Frighted Peace
by Jordan Trevor
Summary: When Jean-Luc Picard is diagnosed with a debilitating illness, he must learn to accept help from his crew.
1. Chapter 1

**Frighted Peace**

**Author's Note:** This was first published as a novella in 1991. It was written under another pseudonym, but it's all mine.

**Disclaimer:** The story is mine, but the crew of the _Enterprise _is not.

So shaken as we are, so wan with care,

Find we a time for frighted peace...

- William Shakespeare, _Henry IV, Part I_

He first felt the weakness in his hands. While shaving one morning, his electronic razor slipped through his fingers and clattered into the sink. He reached for it, but there seemed to be a delay, a moment's hesitation between the impulse of his brain and the movement of his hand. Then his fingers grasped it, lifted it up, set it on the counter. He flexed his hand slowly, tentatively, staring at his face in the mirror.

"You're getting old, Jean-Luc," he murmured at his reflection. "Old and tired," he added with a yawn.

He picked the razor back up to finish shaving away the silvery morning stubble and dropped it again.

"Damn." His right hand trembled slightly.

A trace of worry crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. He was tired, that was all. He grabbed the razor again, tightening his fingers around it. This time he was able to keep his grip, and he continued shaving the right side of his face. By the time he finished, he'd forgotten the incident.

It wasn't until later in the day that something else happened to remind him.

He was having lunch in Ten Forward with Beverly Crusher, and he was having a bit of a problem manipulating his fork. He was able to hold it, but the task of actually getting food on it was evading him. Realizing this, he quickly replaced the utensil on the table before Beverly noticed. He sat and watched her eat, continuing their conversation.

"So, you're almost finished with your inventory?" he asked, smiling at his chief medical officer.

Beverly nodded. "We should be by this evening." She sighed. "If I ever have to do this again, it'll be too soon."

"You take on too much, Beverly. You could have assigned the weight of this to one of your staff."

"I suppose. But I wouldn't have felt right about it." She started to lift a forkful of rice to her mouth, but halted her motion mid-way. "You're not eating," she remarked, lowering the fork back to her plate.

"I'm suddenly not hungry," Jean-Luc lied, casting his eyes away from her. Of all people, he did not like being dishonest with this woman.

"Half an hour ago you told me you were starved," she contradicted him.

"That was half an hour ago."

She eyed him probingly.

"Don't go playing doctor with me, Beverly. I'm just not hungry," he stated firmly, giving her one of his I'm-the-Captain,-and-that's-an-order stares.

"All right," her look of concern lightened, "but at least drink your milk."

"If you insist." He reached out and curled his fingers around the tall glass. He gripped it firmly, but apparently not firm enough. He'd no sooner picked it up, when it slipped from his hand, crashing onto the table, breaking into a thousand pieces. The white liquid spread across the surface, dripping over the side, into his lap.

Beverly reacted before he could: jumping up and mopping at the spill with her napkin.

Jean-Luc was acutely aware that every head in the room had turned their way and he felt his face grow hot with embarrassment.

"Here, let me help with that." Guinan had stolen up next to them, a towel in her hand.

Jean-Luc stood, wiping at the milk on his uniform. "Rather clumsy of me," he laughed. "Hard to believe I was a helmsman in my younger days."

He smiled at Beverly, but he could tell she wasn't buying it.

"Guinan, you wouldn't mind clearing this up for us, would you?"

"No problem," the woman replied simply.

"Captain." Beverly's eyes shifted towards the door in an unspoken invitation to follow her. Not waiting for an answer, she turned and left. Jean-Luc was close at her heels, feeling awkwardly like a wayward schoolboy being called out into the hall.

But as the doors slid closed behind them, he breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to be away from the crew's curious stares.

Beverly stood before him, her arms crossed over her chest, all doctor, no nonsense. "What happened in there?"

Jean-Luc looked back at her innocently. "I dropped a glass of milk," he answered.

An exasperated look flashed across her face. "Why weren't you eating?"

"I already told you I wasn't hungry."

Beverly studied his face. Jean-Luc felt as if she were looking through him. "Are you feeling all right?" She reached to touch his shoulder.

He pulled away. "Beverly, I feel fine." He inhaled deeply. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to."

Jean-Luc turned and strode away from her, only to stop after a few paces. He looked back.

Beverly stood there, staring at him, concern etched on her brow. Damn, he thought, she knows me too well. In that instant, he almost told her, but he stopped himself.

"I enjoyed our lunch," he offered instead. "good luck with your inventory."

And then he was heading in the direction of the turbolift again. Beverly watched him go, certain there was something bothering him, but not sure of what it was.

~vVv~

It bothered Will Riker. This trip to Taureb Prime. Why, he did not know. But it made him feel uneasy, apprehensive. Maybe because it was a last minute mission, one that Starfleet handed down just the day before, altering their course for Starbase 412 and wrecking many a crew member's plan for some much deserved R and R. His included.

It wasn't an extremely important mission. At least, it didn't seem to be. Not according to the taped briefing he'd listened to the night before. In fact, it wouldn't involve him much at all. It was an archaeological expedition concerning new found ruins on a remote area of the planet.

Will was knowledgeable of Taureb Prime. It was a small, M-class world fairly isolated from any main thoroughfares. The Federation had discovered it a little over fifty years ago. It was surprisingly Earth-like, inhabited by similar animal forms. Extensive explorations however had failed to locate any indication as to intelligent life. The planet possessed nothing of great importance, so after the initial fact finding mission, it was given a name, catalogued, and virtually ignored for half a century. Except for an orbiting probe. And a week ago that probe had detected something new.

The ship's archaeologists and geologists had been briefed, and were in the process of excitedly preparing for the expedition. Scientists, Will Riker thought, love nothing better than falling into a good mystery.

~vVv~

The first time he fell, there was no one around. He was stepping out of the shower when he slipped, falling hard onto the tile floor, his head jerking back and hitting the shower door. It stunned him so, that he forgot to breath for several seconds. Then he gasped in a chestful of air and forced himself to relax, to calm the quick beating of his heart.

He reached up and touched the back of his head, wincing. There was no blood, but already he felt a knot there, and he knew it would swell and bruise.

"Great," he muttered aloud. "How am I going to explain this?"

There were times when baldness definitely had its disadvantages; a full head of hair would have hidden the injury.

Carefully, he stretched his arms and legs. Nothing else seemed to be hurt, although his backside ached. He suspected it would for a day or two. Must have been water on the floor, he thought, as he slowly pushed himself up. What was it they always said? Most accidents in the home occur in the bathroom. He wondered if that fact extended to starship cabins.

But once on his feet again, he realized it hadn't been water on the floor. His knees were shaking, and his legs felt weak, as if they were too tired to support his weight. He leaned heavily against the wall and then the door frame as he made his way out of the bathroom. He managed to cross the few feet to his bed and stretched out on it. The air was bitingly cold on his wet skin. Shivering, he pulled the blankets half way on top of him. He was so tired, and his head hurt.

"Sleep," he murmured. "I just need some sleep."

~vVv~

He woke several hours later, the insistent sound of his door chime pulling him from a restless sleep. His head was still pounding, but his legs felt a little stronger as he swung them over the side of the bed and stood up. He reached out and picked up his robe from the chair, pulling it on, arms tangling in the sleeves. The chime sounded again.

"Coming," he called gruffly, glancing at the chronometer on his bedside table.

He groaned. No wonder they were beating down his door; he was half an hour late for bridge duty.

He knotted the robe around him, and rubbed his head as he slowly crossed his quarters. He activated the door, it slid open, and he found himself face to face with Beverly Crusher.

"Doctor," he stammered. She was just the person he didn't want to confront.

"Captain, are you all right?" Her eyes pierced through him.

"I'm fine, I just," he hesitated, "overslept."

"Overslept?" Beverly raised her eyebrows.

"I know. It's not like me. But there's a first time for everything."

She stared at him. He was leaning against the door frame, his hand supporting his weight, knuckles white with the pressure. "Can I come in? Or do you want to continue this conversation in the hall?"

He shook his head. "I really don't want to continue this conversation at all. I need to get dressed now and go to the bridge. If you'll excuse me."

He turned.

"Jean-Luc," she breathed in sharply.

Damn. He'd forgotten his head.

She followed him into the room, the door sliding closed behind her. He felt her fingers lightly touch his skull.

"What happened?"

"I fell." He pulled away and looked back at her, her face tight with worry. "It was a simple household accident. I slipped in the bathroom."

"Sit down, Jean-Luc." A request.

"Beverly..."

"Sit down, Captain." An order.

He sighed and walked over to his desk chair. He sank into it. "It's not that bad," he mumbled.

"It's bad enough." She stood behind him, her strong, sure fingers expertly examining him. "You could have a concussion."

"I could, but I don't." He clenched his hand on top of his desk. "Beverly, please, I'm all right."

"Perhaps," she conceded. "But I still want to check you out in Sickbay."

"Now?" he scowled up at her.

"Now," she insisted.

"Can I at least get dressed first?"

She walked around to the front of his desk and glared down at him. "Yes. But I want to see you there in fifteen minutes. No later."

"Yes, Doctor," he sighed.

She continued to stand her ground.

"I'll be there," he said firmly.

~vVv~

Getting dressed was easier said than done. His arms and legs didn't seem to want to move properly. They felt heavy, awkward, tired. He had to sit on the edge of the bed to pull his pants on. And it took his arms an exceedingly long time to find their way into his shirt sleeves. Finally, exhausted, he zipped up the back of his uniform. He walked over and studied himself in the mirror. He looked fit enough, except for the circles under his eyes. Craning his head around he could barely see the edges of the bruised area. It still throbbed.

He straightened his shoulders and left his quarters, heading for Sickbay. As he came around a bend in the passageway, his right knee buckled, and he started to fall again. He caught himself, his hand braced against the wall. "Easy, Jean-Luc," he whispered as he steadied himself, then carefully tested the leg. After a minute he was able to put his full weight on it. But there was something desperately wrong. For the first time, he admitted it to himself. It wasn't that he was tired, it was something else; something that frightened him.

He turned and walked back to the turbo-lift that led to the bridge. Suddenly, irrationally, the one place he did not want to be was Sickbay. He didn't want to see Beverly, be examined, have her put a name to this something that scared the hell out of him.

He emerged on the bridge from the forward lift. Quickly, instinctively, Will Riker vacated the center command chair, a look of surprise crossing his face.

"Sir."

"You still have the bridge, Number One."

He disappeared into his ready room. Will sat back down, glancing over at Deanna Troi's worried face.

"I thought Beverly was going to get him down to Sickbay," Riker said.

"She wanted to."

Will directed his voice upward. "Bridge to Sickbay. Doctor Crusher?"

"Sickbay, Doctor Crusher here."

"Are you waiting for Captain Picard?" he inquired.

"Yes, I am." Beverly answered tentatively.

Will and Deanna exchanged a look. "Doctor," Will continued tactfully, "I think he's waiting for you in his ready room."

"Oh, is he?" Beverly's voice was hard. There was a momentary silence. And then she spoke again. "I'm on my way. And Will, don't tell him I'm coming. I want to surprise him."

Will sighed. "Glad I'm not our captain right now," he remarked to Deanna.

She didn't respond.

"Deanna?" He leaned towards her.

There was a pained expression on her face.

"Something's wrong, Will. Something's very wrong."

~vVv~


	2. Chapter 2

"Come," Jean-Luc called harshly. He was bent over the computer screen on his desk, his right hand massaging his neck. He looked up to see Beverly, the door closing behind her.

"The next time we play hide-and-seek, Jean-Luc, you might want to find somewhere else to hide. I'll find you here every time."

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I remembered I'd left some work undone."

Beverly crossed over and sat on the edge of his desk. Jean-luc leaned back in his chair, drawing himself away, eying her warily.

"Respect me enough not to lie to me. You've done enough of that in the past few days."

He winced. Her words stung. "Are you going to report to Sickbay, or am I going to have to get Security to carry you there?"

"As soon as I'm finished with this," he said, gesturing towards the computer screen.

"No, now."

"Beverly," he began to protest.

"Jean-Luc, you're not well, I know it, you know it, and half the bridge knows it."

"Half the bridge does not know..." he began. He saw the sobering look on her face.

She sighed. "Will and Deanna are concerned."

He looked away from her.

"Jean-Luc," her voice was soft, gentle, "what symptoms have you noticed?"

"I really haven't..." He stopped himself. He could not lie to her anymore, nor did he want to. But he was afraid of telling her the truth. And yet he knew he must. He breathed in deeply.

"I've felt a weakness in my hands and legs," he answered, eyes downcast. He couldn't look at her, couldn't let her see the fear on his face. And he didn't want to see it on hers either.

"I thought so. This morning, when you fell, did you experience any dizziness, before or after?"

"No. My legs just sort of gave out," he mumbled.

Beverly nodded. "Let's get you down to Sickbay, and figure this out." Her hand wrapped around his upper arm.

"I can manage on my own," he said abruptly, standing up and shrugging free of her grasp.

He maneuvered his way around the desk, stopping in the middle of the room, and looked over at her.

"Beverly, what do you think is wrong with me?"

She shook head. "It could be any number of things."

He swallowed hard. She saw his shoulders tremble slightly.

"But we'll find out what it is, Jean-Luc," she assured, "and then we'll take care of it."

~vVv~

"Promise you'll never do that to me again." Jean-Luc's voice was low, husky.

He was lying on his side, covered to the waist by a sheet. His face pale and drawn. He looked small and helpless on the examining table.

Beverly reached down and rubbed his arm.

"Sorry. Unfortunately, spinal taps haven't changed much in five hundred years. They're still extremely painful."

He grimaced. "That, Doctor, is an understatement."

"And I can't promise you that I won't have to give you another one."

Jean-Luc closed his eyes. They were still wet with unshed tears, of pain, of fear. The pressure of her hand on his arm increased, warm, reassuring. He opened his eyes and smiled up at her.

"I'm all right," he murmured. "I don't blame you for your barbaric medical practices."

"Thank you." Beverly pulled the sheet up, covering his bare chest and shoulders. "Why don't you get a little sleep while I run some more tests."

He nodded. "I'll try." The pain in his lower back lingered, radiated along his spine.

"You may want to remain on your side for a while," she suggested.

"No problem. I'm too tired to roll over."

Beverly held her hand to his cheek, leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. How she longed to be able to smooth the creases away. To kiss him and make him all better.

Jean-Luc cleared his throat, nervously. "That's quite a bedside manner you've got there, Doctor."

Beverly smiled. "That's only because I've got quite a patient."

~vVv~

He woke with her hand on his cheek.

"Are you going to kiss me again?" he murmured, wondering if this was going to become a habit. Half hoping it was.

"Do you want me to?" her smile played enticingly across her lips.

"Not with her here," he replied, grumpily, shifting his eyes towards the counselor.

Deanna laughed softly. "It seems I've missed something."

"Not much," Jean-Luc sighed.

"He's intrigued with my bedside manner," Beverly explained, lifting his head and placing a pillow under it.

Jean-Luc yawned and reached up slowly to rub his eyes. His arms felt heavy. He lowered them.

"What is it, Beverly?" He looked up at her expectantly.

"It's called Guillain-Barre Syndrome."

He frowned. The something had a name. And a French name at that.

"Guillain-Barre Syndrome," he repeated.

Beverly nodded. "Also known as polyradiculoneuritis. It usually occurs one to three weeks after experiencing a fever associated with a viral infection- "

"But I haven't been ill lately," Jean-Luc interrupted.

"Or after an immunization," she continued.

Light dawned. "The vaccines you gave the crew two weeks ago," Jean-Luc said.

"Probably. Chances are you developed a fever, so slight you didn't even know you were running one."

"And that slight fever caused the weakness I'm feeling now?"

"Yes," Beverly answered hesitantly. How much should she tell him?

Jean-Luc stared at her. There was more. "What else?"

She sighed. "First there's the weakness. It usually starts in the legs and spreads upwards. Your case was a little different in that it started with your hands. But that's not terribly unusual. The weakness may persist for several weeks, or several months. It may get better, or..."

"It may get worse," he finished her sentence.

"Jean-Luc." She fought to keep her voice from shaking. "You'll probably develop paralysis in your arms and legs."

He swallowed. Beverly saw the muscles along his jaw harden.

"When?"

"It could happen anytime now. I'm a little surprised that it hasn't already. Your onset has been slow."

"But we think that may work to your advantage," Deanna said, walking to the other side of the table and touching his arm.

Jean-Luc's eyes followed her. "Why?"

"We're hoping your symptoms won't become too severe," Deanna answered.

The word set off an alarm.

"How severe can this paralysis become?" He shifted his gaze back to Beverly.

She answered him with a calmness she didn't feel.

"It could impair your thoracic muscles, which would impede your ability to ingest food orally. And it could affect your breathing." Beverly paused. "Some patients have been placed on respirators."

Jean-Luc closed his eyes. They'd told him more that he wanted to know. And yet, he looked back up at them and asked another question.

"So, what do I have to look forward to?" There was a bitter edge in his voice.

"You can look forward to getting better." Beverly smiled. "It cures itself. Most cases are resolved completely within six months at the most."

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, Captain," Deanna offered, "we're going to pamper you like you've never been pampered before."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "That, Counselor, is what I was afraid of."

Beverly patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, Jean-Luc. Let's just take this a step at a time. Right now, a couple of medics are going to help you to your room."

"And when you're all settled in, Captain, I'll come down and see you." Deanna added.

Two members of Beverly's staff stepped over and moved him onto an anti-grav stretcher.

"I'll look forward to your visit, Counselor," he murmured as they took him out of the room.

Beverly looked at Deanna.

"What is he feeling?" As if she needed to ask.

"Frightened." As if she needed to answer.

"Aren't we all, " Beverly sighed, turning towards her office.

Deanna followed. "He is going to be all right?" she asked.

"I think so," Beverly replied, "Most cases do recover completely."

She leaned against her desk, Deanna stood in the doorway.

"But you're still terribly worried."

Beverly nodded. "About the meantime, Deanna. I'm worried about the meantime."

~vVv~


	3. Chapter 3

Will sighed, stared at Beverly across her office desk.

"He'll get better," she promised. "I just can't say when."

He rubbed his eyes, tiredly, with the heel of his hand.

"The initial weakening will persist for about two weeks, and then gradually level off into a plateau stage. But there's no telling how long that stage will last, although it's usually anywhere from three weeks to six months."

He rubbed his hands together. "Will they take him off the ship?"

"Over my dead body," she shot back without thinking. Then she sighed. "Not if I can help it," she amended. "I'm going to ask for three months. If he doesn't recover by then, other...arrangements will have to be made." Beverly toyed nervously with the writing pen on her desk.

"Three months? From what you've told me that sounds optimistic."

"Maybe," she sighed. "Maybe not."

Will shook his head. "Of all people," he mumbled, "why the captain?" And why now? His apprehension over this trip to Taureb Prime increased a thousand fold with Beverly's news of the captain's illness.

"I don't know, Will," Beverly answered. "Guillain-Barre just happens."

Maybe so, he thought, but why did it feel like an omen.

~vVv~

Darkness surrounded him, and he missed the stars. In his private room in Sickbay there were no viewports, and he'd forgotten how very black a starless night could be.

He wasn't quite sure what had awakened him. One moment he'd been dreaming of mountain climbing in California's High Sierras, the grey peaks outlined sharply against the sky's mile high expanse of brilliant blue. He'd hung suspended from the rocks, below him a blanket of evergreen trees, above him, the challenge of reaching the summit. And all around him, sunshine. And then his eyes snapped open and the dream was gone, the room was dark, and he was alone.

"Lights," he intoned, and the entire room brightened a bit. He breathed a sigh of relief. That was better. Not sunshine, not starlight. But it would do.

Carefully, he lifted his legs. He was able to raise them a few inches from the bed before he let them drop back down. He smiled. He was weaker, but there was no paralysis yet. Maybe there wouldn't be any.

He turned toward the bedside table and reached for the cup of water Beverly had left for him. His right arm barely moved. Panic shot through his mind. He wasn't paralyzed; he couldn't be. He'd just finished moving his legs. He reached again.

This time his arm extended, but it felt so heavy that he let fall back onto the bed. But I did move it, he thought to himself. If he sat up, and pulled himself closer to the table, he felt sure he could reach the cup. He braced his hands against the bed and pushed. His head slid higher on the pillows, and he felt his shoulders against them. He rested for a moment, breathing in deeply, gathering his strength. He pushed again, raising his body even higher, and then settled back into a sitting position.

He was pleased with himself, until he realized that all he'd done was sit up. He looked over at the table. The cup was his goal. By pressing his shoulders against the pillows he was able to move closer to the side of the bed. He reached out, his hand brushing the cup handle. So close... And then he lost his balance and tumbled over the edge of the bed. He landed on the floor, gown pulled to his hips, blankets tangled around his legs.

"Damn it," he cried out.

Within seconds, the door to his room slid open, the brighter light from the hall pouring in, shining harshly in his eyes. He blinked. Beverly and one of the medics came and knelt beside him.

"Jean-Luc, are you all right?" She lifted his head from the floor.

"Does it look like I'm all right?" he shot back, angrily, embarrassed as hell.

Instead of answering, she placed her hands under his shoulders. The medic took hold of his legs, and together they lifted him onto the bed.

"Thanks, Gordon," she said as she picked up the blankets and began spreading them over Jean-Luc. "You can go now."

The man left the room. Beverly finished with the blankets and then rested her hand on his shoulder. She could feel him trembling.

"Relax, Jean-Luc," she soothed.

"I am relaxed," he hissed.

"And angry," she suggested.

"Yes, damn it, I'm angry." He felt tears sting his eyes.

"That's good." She sat down on the edge of his bed. "You get angry if you want to, and you stay angry. And together we're going to fight this thing." The look on her face softened. "But don't fight me, Jean-Luc. I'm on your side."

He took several deep breaths, and squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. A few tears slid onto his cheeks. Without a word, Beverly wiped them away.

"Now, are you all right?" she asked again.

He sighed. "I'm fine."

"What were you trying to do?"

He nodded towards the table. "Reach that cup of water."

"Here" Beverly picked it up, and lifting Jean-Luc's head, held it to his lips.

He took several long, slow sips, all the while thinking that he really wasn't thirsty, he'd just wanted to pick the damn thing up. She settled him back onto the pillow.

He stared up at her. "I didn't think it would happen." Hard to admit.

"Jean-Luc, I told you it probably would." Hard to say.

"I know." He gave her a tired smile of acceptance. "Next time I want a drink of water, I'll give you a call."

"You do that."

She got up, walked to the door, and touching the panel on the wall, lowered the lights.

"Beverly?" A small voice.

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"Would you leave the desk light on, please?"

"Of course," She reached over and activated the small desk lamp. It flickered on.

"Call if you need me."

"I will."

She paused at the door and looked back. She could barely make out his form in the glow of the dim light. But she could hear his breathing, low, and gasping.

"Goodnight, Jean-Luc."

He didn't respond immediately, but as she stepped into the hallway she heard him whisper.

"Goodnight, Doctor."

~vVv~

Morning came and made him impatient; he wanted to be in uniform, on the bridge. But he knew that was impossible. Already he was far too weak to dress himself.

But he could still move and he reminded Beverly of this as he took the cup from her hand.

"See," he declared, lifting it to his lips.

"Oh, yes, and you're doing such a good job," she observed teasingly, as she wiped his dripping chin.

"Really, now, Beverly, it's in poor taste to make fun of a sick man."

"I'm sorry. I'm not making fun." She picked up a spoon from the tray in front of him. "Do you want another bite of egg?"

"No." He turned his head away from her.

"Are you having trouble swallowing?" Doctor Crusher again.

He looked back. "I'm not having any trouble swallowing, Beverly. I'm just not hungry."

"Are you sure?"

"I can still eat," he snapped.

"And talk," she replied drily.

He sighed. "I'm sorry."

Beverly smiled. "There's no need to apologize. In fact, let's make a deal right now. The next few weeks aren't going to be easy. But no apologies. You're allowed to feel whatever you want to feel. And express it."

"That could be dangerous," he warned, his dark brows knotting together over hazy green eyes.

"I'll take my chances."

She stood up and cleared away the breakfast tray.

"Are you up for a visitor?" she asked breezily.

"Who? Deanna?"

"No," she answered. "Will.

"Will. Yes." Jean-Luc paused. "I need to talk to him, but..."

Beverly caught the hesitation in his voice. She set the tray down and walked back over to the edge of his bed.

"But what, Jean-Luc?" She sensed his uneasiness.

He let out a deep breath, "I'm not looking forward to..." he swallowed, "being seen like this."

Beverly studied him. "Why? You look fine to me." She smoothed her hand over his shoulder. "This blue gown is very becoming on you."

He flashed his eyes at her. "Beverly."

"Jean-Luc, I've explained your illness to the bridge crew. They know, and they understand. And you're still the captain."

He pursed his lips, considering her words. "For how long?" he mumbled darkly.

"What was that?" She leaned closer.

"Nothing," he spoke up. "Tell Will I'd like to see him."

~vVv~

Jean-Luc had never realized just how tall his first officer was. But then, he'd never seen him from quite this angle before.

Will's broad shoulders filled the doorway as he entered the room.

"Captain," he smiled, "you're looking well."

"Thank you, Number One." He indicated the chair next to the bed. "Have a seat."

Will walked over, swiveled the chair around and, as was his usual custom, straddled it, his arms folded on the back.

"How is everything on the bridge?" Jean-Luc inquired.

"Just fine, sir. Still on course for Taureb Prime. We should arrive there in seven-point-two-days."

Jean-Luc nodded. "That's good." He hesitated. "We have an unusual situation here, Number One."

"Yes, sir. I've already spoken with Starfleet Command."

Oh. "And?"

"Admiral Dakin would like to speak to you in person. Beverly asked if he could wait until you were feeling a little better."

He drew his eyebrows together. "You mean I'm keeping an admiral waiting?"

Will grinned. "Yes, sir."

That woman! "I am well enough to talk to Ben Dakin."

"I know that, sir, and you know that, but, well, you know our Chief Medical Officer."

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes. "All too well. And what I don't know about her, I'm fast finding out." He groaned softly, and shook his head. "What did Ben say to you, Number One?"

"Actually we didn't talk long. Beverly did most of the talking."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"And based upon her recommendation," he continued "you are still in command of the _Enterprise_."

"I'm what?" Jean-Luc exclaimed, a mixture of surprise and relief flooding through him. And yet it made no sense. How could he command a starship from Sickbay? "Even I can see the basic flaw in this premise. I can't walk. I can barely lift my arms."

"Yes, sir. But there's nothing wrong with your mind, and any serious command decisions will be yours to make."

"And everything else?"

"Will be my responsibility. I'll keep you apprised, but I'll try not to bother you too often."

"No, Number One, bother me whenever you need to. And set up that communications link-up with Admiral Dakin."

"Yes, sir." He stood up, swinging his right leg off the chair. "Anything else, Captain?"

"No."

Will nodded and started to leave.

"Yes. There is something else," Jean-Luc said, his words halting his first officer. Will turned around.

"Tell the bridge crew...hello for me."

Will smiled broadly. "Yes, sir."

~vVv~


	4. Chapter 4

Before his meeting with Ben Dakin, Deanna came for a visit. She brought with her some of his personal belongings.

"_Great Expectations_ by Charles Dickens. _Gone with the Wind_ by Margaret Mitchell. _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_." She stressed the word complete.

"I may be here for a long time," Jean-Luc answered her questioning gaze.

"I'd have to be here my entire life before I could finish these."

"Let's hope I'm not here that long."

Deanna smiled at him reassuringly. "You won't be, sir."

"One chess set, your razor, your toothbrush, and..." She drew out the last items.

"My pajamas," Jean-Luc's eyes brightened.

"And your robe. They were lying on the chair in your bedroom. I hope you don't mind. I thought you might like to have them."

"Oh, yes, Counselor. Thank you. I can't tell you how much I hate this gown."

"I suspected as much. I'll ask Gordon to help you change into them later on. But right now," Deanna pulled the chair close to the bed, "we need to talk."

She sat down. "There's something bothering you, Captain."

Jean-Luc sighed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, sir, I do sense a certain amount of confusion and doubt."

A slight smile crossed Jean-Luc's face. "You read me so well, don't you?"

"Like a book," Deanna answered, almost apologetically. "You are most definitely a classic," she added.

"A classic? Umm... at least you didn't say antique." Jean-Luc paused and exhaled heavily. "I'm concerned about my retaining command of the _Enterprise_."

"Oh," she remarked, "what concerns you?"

"Deanna, these are not normal circumstances, and I must admit that my illness has me a little..." he hesitated. How could he say this?

"Frightened?" she offered.

"Yes, frightened," he sighed.

"That's understandable."

"To tell you the truth," he lowered his eyes, "I'm not sure how well I'm going to be able to handle this."

"You seem to be handling it just fine, sir."

He looked up at her. "It's only been one day, Deanna."

"I know. But Beverly and I discussed this at great length, and we feel that allowing you to remain in command would be the best course of action to take. When and if your paralysis worsens, if you become incapacitated in any way, then Will can take over temporarily. But right now, your thinking is straight and clear, and your knowledge and ability as a captain is irreplaceable. We want to keep you involved in the running of this ship."

Jean-Luc stared at her. "No one asked me what I wanted."

The smile on Deanna's face faded. "You're right, sir, I'm sorry. The final decision is yours to make."

"Thank you, Counselor." He smiled at her. "I'm not upset with you. I just wanted to make sure that I still have a controlling interest in my immediate future."

"Of course you do, Captain. We just wanted to-"

"Keep me involved."

"Yes, sir."

"In hopes that my involvement will ward off any feelings of self-pity I might develop?" he queried.

Deanna grinned sheepishly. "You're partly right sir. We don't want you to dwell on the things you can't do right now." She stood up, walked to the end of the bed and reached back into the suitcase. Especially when there are still a hundred other things you can do." She drew out a stack of information clips. "I found these on the desk in your ready room, and these," she lifted out another handful, "are from your quarters. The information needs to be processed and completed. Also, Beverly feels that manipulating them will be wonderful therapy for your hands and arms."

Jean-Luc began to laugh, a low chuckle, as he shook his head at her. "You're putting me to work?"

"Yes, sir. But only if you want me to."

"Give those to me," he instructed, his voice firm.

She placed them on the side of the bed, next to his hand.

"And push that computer screen over here."

She complied. The desk was designed to stretch across the bed, so that he had easy access to the screen.

He lifted an information clip in his hand.

"Get out of here, Counselor. I have work to do." His tone was not harsh, but gently mocking.

"Yes, sir," Deanna walked to the door.

"Counselor?"

She turned and looked at him.

"Thank you for helping me make a decision," he said quietly. "I know now what I'm going to say to Ben Dakin."

Deanna returned the smile he gave her.

"You're welcome, Captain."

~vVv~

For the most part, the plan worked. Jean-Luc's days were full and busy. But the nights were long.

One night in particular. He'd been in Sickbay a little over a week. It was late, but he couldn't sleep. Finally, he called for Beverly.

"Computer, Doctor Crusher," he spoke into the darkness.

A few moments later, his door slid open. Gordon was there.

"Are you all right, Captain?"

"I'm fine," he answered.

"Doctor Crusher is on her way."

Jean-Luc sighed and laid his head back on the pillow.

"Was Doctor Crusher off-duty?"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn," Jean-Luc muttered quietly.

"Sir?"

"You needn't have called her Gordon."

"Oh, no, sir. Doctor Crusher has left clear instructions. She's to be called whenever you need her."

"I see."

"Is there anything I can get you, sir?"

"No, Gordon, thank you though."

"Would you like me to wait with you, sir?"

"No, that won't be necessary. You can go now."

Gordon left, leaving the door open. The light from the hall cast shadows on the wall. He stared at the ceiling, silently cursing himself. How much of Beverly's time did he take during the day? She was constantly in and out of his room.

Checking on him, talking with him, bringing him his work. She helped feed him breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Sat with him during his physical therapy sessions. Was there at his every beck and call. And now, he had disturbed her off-duty simply because he could not sleep.

"Damn," he repeated.

"Jean-Luc?" Her voice was tinged with worry. He looked towards the door, and caught his breath. She was standing there, her hair unruly, shining copper in the light. She was wearing a pale green jumpsuit, with a low-cut neckline, her lab coat pulled hastily on over it. She was beautiful.

"Jean-Luc?" she said again. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Beverly, I'm all right. I'm sorry to disturb you."

She came to the edge of his bed. "You didn't disturb me. Is there something you need?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing."

She frowned at him. "You didn't call me for nothing, Jean-Luc."

"I'm sorry I called you at all. I didn't even think that you might be off duty."

"It doesn't make any difference if I'm on duty or off. If you need me-"

"But I didn't really need you, Beverly, I just couldn't..." He stopped. He felt so selfish.

"Couldn't what?" Beverly sat down on the edge of the bed.

He swallowed. "I couldn't sleep."

He felt her hand touch his arm.

"I can give you a sedative if you want."

"No. I'm not even sure I want to sleep."

"Feeling lonely?" she asked softly.

Jean-Luc looked up at her. Smart woman. "A little bit." He glanced around the room. "And getting tired of these four walls I guess."

"Well, I think I have a solution to that. Light." The room brightened. "I'll be right back."

She stood and walked quickly out of the room.

"Doctor?" he called after her.

There was no reply. A minute later, she was back, pushing a wheelchair in front of her.

He focused his eyes on it and then shifted his gaze to her.

"No, Beverly. I don't think I want to go anywhere."

She pulled it over to the bed.

"I was planning on bringing this in here tomorrow, but now is as good a time as any. It's time you got out of that bed."

"Beverly."

"Now." She reached over, took hold of his shoulders and helped him sit up. She moved back the blankets and pulled his legs over the edge of the bed.

"Beverly, if we're going on a trip, can I have my robe?"

"Yes." She picked it up off the chair, and lifting his left arm, then his right, helped him shrug into it.

"Thank you," he grumped.

"You're welcome. Now let's get you in this chair."

"Perhaps we'd better call Gordon," Jean-Luc suggested.

"No need. I can do it." Beverly placed his arms over her shoulders. "Can you grasp your hands behind my neck?"

"I think so." He gripped them together tightly.

"Good." She put her hands under his arms. "I'm going to lift you and move you into the chair."

"Beverly, I'm slipping"

"No, you're not," she mumbled moving him towards the chair.

"Yes, I am," he protested.

"Jean-Luc, you are not slipping," she insisted. "There."

She settled him in the chair. "I told you I could do it."

Beverly smoothed his robe over his legs and tied it at the waist. Then she stepped back and looked down at him.

"Ready to go?"

Jean-Luc grimaced. "I suppose."

She walked around to the back of the wheelchair.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"I thought we might visit the Sickbay's observation lounge. Give you something to look at besides these four walls."

~vVv~


	5. Chapter 5

The stars were pinpoints of light. Silent and distant. Yet at the same time, they sang to him, and seemed close enough to touch.

Beverly pushed the wheelchair close and he reached out and pressed his fingers against the viewport's smooth, cool surface. They were in orbit around Taureb Prime, and would be for some time. The ship's geologists and archaeologists were involved in a research project. The Sickbay's observation lounge faced away from the planet, and Jean-Luc was glad. He didn't want anything to impede the view of his stars.

"You missed them, didn't you?" Beverly whispered. The lounge was empty, softly lit, and there was an almost palpable need to preserve the quiet.

"What?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Your stars."

"My stars?"

"That's the way you think of them, isn't it?"

He laughed softly. "How did you know?"

Beverly leaned her head down level with his and smiled at him. "It's that possessive look you get in your eyes."

"Actually, they don't belong to me, Beverly. I belong to them.

"I know." She sat down on a low bench next to the viewport and leaned her head back against it. She stared at him. Already he seemed more relaxed.

"What are thinking?" she asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Just remembering."

"What?" Beverly prodded gently.

"When I was a child." He puckered his bottom lip out, thoughtfully. "We were living in London at the time. I guess I was about six, maybe seven. It was winter and I had pneumonia. I didn't realize at the time how bad it was, but Maman told me years later that she was afraid I was going to die. But I didn't. And when I started to get better, I remember I was so restless, cooped up in that room with only my books and a few toy soldiers."

Beverly smiled at the image.

"My bedroom window looked out on the street below, and every day I would sit and watch my chums playing kick-the-can, cricket. I longed to be with them. You know, I think that was the first time I ever really felt alone." He sighed, remembering all the times since. "I haven't thought about this in years."

"You've never told me anything about your childhood," Beverly said, leaning forward and putting her hand on his knee.

"I really didn't like being a child," he murmured.

"Jean-Luc, everybody likes being a child," she exclaimed.

"I didn't."

She grinned. "I can't imagine you ever being one."

"I was. Even had a full head of hair for a while."

Beverly gazed at him. "Is that how you feel now?"

"How?"

"Like you're all cooped up and all your chums are out playing kick-the-can."

"A little, although I was never very good at kick-the-can."

"All right," Beverly corrected. "Cricket."

Jean-Luc pointed a finger at her. "Now, that I was good at."

She smiled. "I'm sure you were."

He chewed nervously at his lower lip.

"Jean-Luc?" Beverly's hand squeezed his knee.

"I've been ill for ten days and it feels like ten years."

Beverly sighed. "I'm sorry, Jean. I know it's frustrating."

"What if I don't get better?"

"You will."

He swallowed. "But what if I don't?"

"Don't even talk like that." She stood and moved behind the wheelchair, reaching down and placing her hands on his shoulders. "You're going to get better, and until you do, I'll be here for you."

He reached up and covered her hand with his. She grasped his fingers, holding on tightly.

"Could I have a little more of that bedside manner of yours?" he asked, his voice low.

She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "This bedside manner?" she murmured, her lips against his smooth skin.

"That's the one."

Beverly pressed her free hand to his cheek.

"You're going to beat this, Jean-Luc."

"Only with your help," he agreed, tiredly.

She straightened up, and took a deep breath.

"Like I said, together we're going to fight this thing."

He nodded. "What about this thing?" He dropped his left hand down and touched the metal of the chair, his fingers running over the edges of the wheel.

"This thing is your ticket out of that room. You can leave behind your books and toy soldiers and go wherever you want." She pointed to the control switch on the armrest. "All by yourself."

Jean-Luc looked up at her, a trace of fear crossing his features. "Where would I want to go?"

Beverly shrugged. "I don't know. You might want to come here again. The next time you're missing your stars."

~vVv~

"A village?" Will Riker stared at the viewscreen. Lieutenant Sam Abruzzi's dark face stared back.

"Yes, Commander," he answered. "The remains of approximately twelve to fifteen stone dwellings."

"No sign of intelligent life?"

"No, sir, and we're not likely to find any. The probe would have picked that up years ago."

"The probe," Will replied cuttingly, "overlooked that village for fifty years."

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant agreed carefully. "We're going to set up a full archeological dig and explore the surrounding area. I'll keep you informed of our progress."

Will sighed. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

He settled back in the command chair. With the ship in orbit around the planet, there was very little for him to do, except worry. About the away team. And the captain.

~vVv~

Jean-Luc's hands weakly grasped the sides of the bed as Selar pushed his right leg back, his knee almost to his chest. He gritted his teeth. It didn't exactly hurt, but he could feel the muscles pull, uncomfortably. She straightened the leg back out, only to repeat the movement again.

"Thirty-nine," he grunted.

"Thirty-five," Selar corrected. "Five more to go, Captain."

He fixed her with a steely gaze. "I've been counting," he protested.

"Then you counted wrong, Jean-Luc." Beverly stared down at him from the other side of the bed. "Wishful thinking probably caused you to skip a few numbers somewhere back in the twenties."

He scowled. "I didn't skip anything."

Selar continued the repetitions. "It's a conspiracy," he snorted, looking at Beverly accusingly. "You're trying to increase the number to fifty without my knowing it."

Beverly looked at Selar, eyes wide, mouth gaping.

"Oh, no," she exclaimed, "he's found us out."

Selar straightened his leg and settled it on the bed. She stepped back. Beverly took over, moved her hands up to his thigh, and massaged the muscles.

"I can assure you, Captain," Selar intoned, "that was forty repetitions. I would not increase them without informing you." She nodded curtly, turned, and left the room.

"Humph," he breathed, closing his eyes. The massage Beverly gave him every morning after his therapy was worth the discomfort.

When she finished with his legs, she rolled him over on his stomach and continued, her strong hands kneading his shoulder blades and back. He sighed, contentedly. Like a cat, she thought, noticing the thin smile that played across his lips. All he needed was some sunny window to lie in. The muscles rippled beneath his skin, and Beverly could actually feel the tension seep away. If she could only keep him this relaxed all the time.

"Feel good?" she asked, rubbing hard against his lower back.

"Umm-umm," he murmured, half awake. Often times he fell asleep after his therapy sessions.

"You're like a big cat," Beverly accused, laughing at him quietly.

His eyes opened. "A cat?" he questioned.

She smiled. "You just look so relaxed and content."

"Looking forward to one of your massages is the only thing that gets me through Selar's torture," he confided.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly scolded, "don't ever let her hear you say that."

"I won't," he promised, yawning.

"She's a very good doctor and therapist," Beverly defended her colleague.

"I know," Jean-Luc agreed. "But she hasn't got your personal touch." He looked up at her with sleepy, slitted Cheshire cat eyes, a crooked grin on his face.

Beverly squeezed his shoulders. "Go to sleep, Jean."

"Gladly," he murmured, closing his eyes. And with a final sigh, he drifted off.

~vVv~

"It's your turn, Data."

"Yes, sir, I know."

Jean-Luc stared at the chess board in front of them. Then back up at his second officer.

"Are you unsure of which move to make?" Jean-Luc asked. Unfortunately, it was all too clear to him.

Data was one step away from defeating him for the third time that afternoon.

"No, sir, I am not unsure of which move to make. I have already ascertained that."

Jean-Luc narrowed his eyes at Data. "Then why are you hesitating?"

"I am glad you asked, sir. During the past few weeks, I have taken it upon myself to study members of the crew while they are engaged in various activities. I have noticed that while playing certain games, such as chess or checkers, they often hesitate before making their moves."

Jean-Luc sighed. Only Data. "That's because they usually haven't decided which move to make."

"I know that sir." Data leaned forward, his opalescent eyes large and round. "But, you see, in my attempt to be more human, I think I should emulate all aspects of human nature. And is it not human nature to worry and hesitate over each move in a game such as chess?"

Jean-Luc thought for a moment, considering what he might say to his android officer. Then he reconsidered.

"Just move, Data."

"Yes, sir." Data reached out and moved his bishop to the very spot Jean-Luc knew he would.

"Checkmate, sir."

"Congratulations, Data," Jean-Luc supplied.

"Thank you, sir. Would you care to play again?"

"Why not?" Jean-Luc reached out and touched the chess pieces.

"Here, sir, let me set up the board."

Jean-Luc leaned back against the pillows and allowed Data to arrange the pieces on the board. Slowly he flexed his fingers. They felt stiff.

"Sir, are you feeling all right?"

Jean-Luc looked up. Data's eyes were focused on his hands.

"I'm fine, Data. Just getting a little chess stiffness."

A look of confusion passed over the android's face. "Chess Stiffness. I am not familiar with this disorder." He looked down at his own hands.

Jean-Luc shook his head. Again only Data. "No, Data. It's not a disorder. My fingers are a bit stiff from playing chess for so long."

Data's confusion turned to concern. "Oh, yes, sir. Perhaps we should discontinue playing for the afternoon."

"No, Data, I want to play. Why don't you make the first move. And please, don't feel that you have to hesitate."

"I never felt that I had to hesitate. As you know sir, I do not have feelings. I was merely hesitating in order to better experience..."

Jean-Luc held up his hand. "Yes, yes Data. Human nature."

Data smiled. "Yes, sir."

"Move, please."

"Of, course."

Their game proceeded as uneventfully as the previous four. And the stiffness in Jean-Luc's fingers worsened. It became increasingly more difficult to move his hand over the board and pick up the pieces. And this difficulty was not escaping Data's watchful eyes.

"Captain, would you like me to make your moves for you? You can tell me where you want to move, and then I can-"

"No, Data," Jean-Luc interrupted, "I can move the pieces myself."

He reached for his rook and attempted to close his fingers around it. The piece was so small it eluded him. His lips thinned and his forehead wrinkled as he concentrated.

"Sir?"

"What Data?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Let me do that for you."

"I said no." His hand trembled and accidentally knocked over several pieces. "Damn," he muttered, under his breath. Impulsively he pushed the board off the table. It clattered to the floor, pawns and rooks and knights scattering everywhere.

Jean-Luc tightened his hand into a fist, and squeezed his eyes closed. Data sat and stared at his captain. Then he bent down and started to pick up the pieces.

"Data," Jean-Luc's voice was husky. "Would you please leave?"

"Do you want me to call Doctor Crusher for you?"

"No, Data, I'd just like to be alone now." Cold, hard, distant.

"Yes, sir."

Data rose and crossed to the door. He looked back. The captain had not moved. His head was still bent, hand still clenched. Not knowing what else to day, Data left, leaving his captain alone, wondering if a human would have known what to do.

~vVv~


	6. Chapter 6

Ten minutes passed, long, interminable, then Beverly came, just as he'd known - hoped - she would. He didn't look at her when she entered; instead he kept his eyes focused on the middle of the desk where the chess set had been. An empty spot, empty gaze.

Wordlessly, she walked to the bed and picked up his right hand.

"Squeeze my fingers," she instructed.

He lightly tightened his own around hers. She reached across for the left hand.

"Now this one."

He squeezed.

Beverly let go of his hands and stood back. Jean-Luc looked up to read the expression on her face. It was grim.

"They're getting weaker," she pronounced.

"No, they're not," he shot back.

"Jean-Luc."

"I'm just tired." He turned his head away.

Beverly sat down on the side of his bed.

"Look at me," she said gently.

He didn't move.

"Jean-Luc." She cupped his chin in her hand and turned his face toward hers. "Your hands are getting weaker. And you're going to have to accept that."

Beverly's hand moved from his chin to his cheek and caressed it softly. He shook his head and she drew her hand away.

"That's all I ever do," he rasped, angrily. "Accept things. I wake up in the morning and Gordon gives me a bath and dresses me. And what a choice I have. The black pajamas or maybe the grey. Or if I'm in a particularly festive mood, I'll opt for the blue ones. And then you come and feed me breakfast and afterwards brush my teeth. Then Selar comes in here and tortures me."

"Jean-Luc-"

"No," he cut her off. "After a few hours of that, you feed me lunch and then Deanna arrives with some time-consuming, meaningless work that's supposed to make me feel useful. Then it's visitor time and I sit here and exchange pleasantries with Data or Geordi, all the while knowing they're uncomfortable in my presence. And, damn it, I'm uncomfortable in theirs. But I'm the captain, and there's this mystique of authority that I have to maintain. Can't let the crew see me upset or fatigued. Well I'm tired Beverly." His words were sharp, bitter, his eyes bright with tears. "I'm tired of accepting things."

He leaned back into the pillows and closed his eyes, exhausted. In some ways, Beverly felt a sense of relief. It was the first time he'd really opened up, let all of his feelings tumble out.

She took his hand in hers, large, warm, raised it to her lips, kissed it softly.

"I know," she whispered. "I know."

She stood, tucking his hand under the blankets, pulling them up around him, smoothing them over his chest and shoulders.

"Sleep, Jean," she murmured.

She walked to the door and lowered the lights, remembering to turn the desk lamp on. Already his breathing was low and steady. She paused in the doorway.

"I'll wake you when it's time for dinner," she said aloud, more to herself than to him.

But Jean-Luc heard. "Don't bother," he mumbled.

Beverly's hand tightened on the door frame.

"I said I'll wake you," she repeated firmly, then let the door slide closed behind her.

~vVv~

Beverly sank into the chair, propping her elbows on the desk, cradling her head in her hands. She was tired, too. And frustrated. And scared. She'd thought that she'd be able to handle this; be able to watch him grow weaker while she remained strong for the both of them. But now she wasn't sure.

Jean-Luc had always been so vital, active. She remembered the early days of their friendship. Back when Jack was still alive, before Wesley. They'd made quite a trio: Jack with his boundless energy, Jean-Luc with his commanding personality, and Beverly... she'd just felt so lucky to be with them, a part of their lives, their adventures.

She felt tears well up in her eyes. She never could remember the old days without remembering that one day, when Jean-Luc came home, but Jack didn't. Just like that, it was over, and a decade passed before she and Jean-Luc allowed themselves to be friends again.

She thought about what he'd said only moments before. That the crew was uncomfortable in his presence. And she asked herself the question: Was she uncomfortable with him? And she answered: No. She was a doctor and a mother. She was used to taking care of people. That was her job. And taking care of Jean-Luc was easy because...because she loved him.

"Mom?"

She jerked her head up. "Wesley?" Standing tall in front of her desk.

"Were you asleep?"

"No."

He sat down in the chair across from her. "You look tired."

Beverly groaned. "Thank you, Wes. A mother can always count on her son for compliments."

He grinned. "Sorry. But you do look tired."

"I am." _Oh, I am, Wesley._ "But enough of me. How are you?"

"I'm great. I came to get Captain Picard."

Suddenly, Beverly remembered. "That's right. You were going to take him for a walk on the holodeck."

"Yeah. And I've decided on a fantastic place for us to go. You know how Captain Picard loves history, and I thought we could-"

"Wesley," she interrupted. "I think you'd better go another day."

Concern flooded Wesley's face. "Is the captain all right?"

"He's fine." Beverly smiled at her son. "He's just really tired, and I think he's asleep right now."

The concern drained away.

"All right." Wesley got up. "Ask him if he wants to go tomorrow."

"I will," she promised.

"Tell him the weather's always great on the holodeck," he called back.

Beverly shook her head at Wesley's retreating form. Ah, the energy of youth. She stretched and her eyes fell upon a stack of reports on her desk. She'd been letting them pile up for the past few days. With Jean-Luc sleeping, now would be a good time to knock some of them out of the way. She picked up the top one and got to work.

An hour later the stack was considerably smaller. Beverly leaned back in her chair, savoring that rare feeling of accomplishment. She'd experienced so little of it lately. She brushed her hair back from her eyes and fastened it in place with a comb. She bent over another report.

"Doctor?" A deep voice.

Beverly looked up. It was Will.

"Hey. Come on in."

Will settled himself on the chair in front of her desk.

"Data told me about his chess game with the captain." He frowned. "He's getting worse, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid so. His hands are getting weaker."

"How's he taking it? Data said he seemed agitated."

Beverly sighed. "That's a good descriptive, Data word. Unfortunately, it sums it up. He's not taking it very well."

"I guess we shouldn't expect him to."

"No," Beverly agreed. "We shouldn't."

"Beverly?"

"I think we're expecting too much from him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... Will, we see him as the captain. Strong, in control. I think we all had some pre-conceived ideas of how he was going to handle this."

Will nodded. "And we're putting too much pressure on him?"

"Maybe," Beverly shrugged. "I don't know. He's always been in command, and now we're telling him what to do. We don't give him any choices. We map out his day for him. I make him eat when he's not hungry. Selar tortures him."

"Torture?" Will questioned.

"Physical therapy."

"Is it painful for him?" Worry creased his forehead.

"Just emotionally," Beverly answered. She was quiet for a moment. "Maybe... we should just pull back. Not push him so much. Restrict crew visitation. Hold off on paperwork. Let him take it easy."

"Let him slip away?" Will said, voice low.

Beverly flashed her eyes at him. "No. Just... not expect so much from him right now."

Will considered her words. "You're the doctor. You know what's best. And you have known the captain longer than any of us. But..."

"But what?" she prompted.

Will leaned forward, resting elbows on knees, hands in front of him, gesticulating, giving shape and form to his words. "The captain has always lived with expectations weighing heavily on his shoulders. Expectations of Starfleet, his crew. The expectations he places upon himself. He's built his career around them, disciplined himself to fulfill them. It's the way he lives his life. I can't help thinking that if we removed those expectations, we'd be taking away a lot more."

_It's the way he lives his life._ The words echoed in Beverly's mind. Will was right. She'd gotten too close to Jean-Luc's fears, too close to her own. Allowed her feelings to get in the way of her better judgment as a doctor. A part of her wanted to protect him, keep him safe, insulated. But that would rob him of his personality. Proud, independent, strong. And even though he needed her now, he would not always. And she could not let him forget who he was.

"Thank you," she said to Will, as she stood up.

"You're welcome... I think."

She walked over to the door.

"Beverly?" Will turned and stared at her.

"I'm sorry, Will. I gotta go." She smiled. "I have to keep a dinner date with someone."

~vVv~


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Thanks for all the positive reviews! I appreciate the feedback.

Dinner. Will ate his with Deanna. He might as well have eaten alone. He wasn't much company.

They sat at a table in an empty corner of Ten Forward. Will staring at his plate. Deanna staring at him.

Listlessly, he pushed a piece of potato around with his fork.

"Are you going to eat your food, or just play with it?" Deanna asked softly.

Will looked up, grinned self-consciously. "Guess I'm not very hungry."

Deanna arched her eyebrows. "This is a first."

"Yeah." Will dropped the fork in his plate.

"You look tired."

Will sighed. "I feel tired."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Will answered, leaning back in his chair. "All I've been doing is sitting on the bridge, orbiting this damn planet, listening to Sam Abruzzi, and..." His voice trailed off.

"And worrying," Deanna added.

Will frowned slightly. "Some," he agreed.

"A lot," she corrected.

"It shows, huh?"

"I feel it."

Will shook his head. "Can't keep any secrets from you."

"Do you really think there's something to worry about on Taureb Prime?" she asked.

"I don't know. Just something about this whole mission doesn't feel right to me."

"Maybe it's the captain's illness?" Deanna suggested.

"No. I felt this way before we knew he was ill. But," he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, "it doesn't help matters."

Will was uncomfortable talking about the captain. Deanna could tell. Lately, they hadn't talked about him. Nor had Will visited him quite as often. At first, he'd seen him several times a day. Now, he saw him once, in the afternoon, and that was all.

It was something that needed to be discussed. But Deanna was hesitant to broach the subject. Will was tense and tired.

"You don't feel anything associated with this planet?" he asked for the fifteenth time in a week.

"No, Will," she answered patiently. "All I feel is the presence of our away team."

He shrugged. "I guess I'm just letting this inactivity get to me."

"Probably." Deanna smiled. "You need some sort of diversion."

He laughed slightly. "That's why I had dinner with you."

"Something more than dinner with me."

"I don't know," he smiled slyly. "You're pretty diverting." He leaned over and touched her, squeezed her arm lovingly.

She looked down at his hand on her uniform. "Like maybe a cold shower."

"Or a walk on the holodeck?" he offered.

Deanna nodded. "It's a deal. Only I get to pick the place. And you have to promise to behave."

Will pulled back, lifted his hand, fingers pointing upward. "Scout's honor."

~vVv~

"Why am I dressed?" Jean-Luc asked as she entered his room. It was the next morning and he was sitting in his wheelchair next to the bed.

Beverly paused in the doorway and looked at him over the breakfast tray she was carrying. He was wearing a pale blue silk shirt, dark grey pants, and brown soft-soled shoes.

"You look very handsome," she remarked as she crossed over and set the tray on the table.

He followed her with his eyes. "I didn't ask for a compliment. Why am I dressed?" he repeated.

"Just yesterday you told me you were getting tired of you limited wardrobe," she replied pleasantly. "I thought a change was in order."

"Beverly," his voice was sharp. "I demand to know why I am dressed in civilian clothes and why Gordon put me in this thing."

He glared down at the wheelchair, his weakened hands longing to slap the sides of it.

Beverly stood calmly by the table, wielding fork and knife, meticulously cutting whatever was on the plate into bite-sized pieces. "Because after breakfast you're going on a field trip." There, it was out.

And Jean-Luc tripped over it. "Field trip? To where?"

"Sorry," she breathed, "it's a surprise."

"Where?" he demanded. Not a command. Almost a whine.

"Jean-Luc," she said, ignoring his question, "do you want some of these pancakes?"

"No, Beverly, I do not want any of those..." The aroma hit him. "Pancakes?" He sniffed.

"Um-um. With maple syrup."

"And blueberry preserves?"

"Yes."

He pushed the chair's control switch with his fingers and wheeled over to her.

"I take it you're hungry," she noted.

"You don't play fair," Jean-Luc grumbled.

Beverly tilted her head at him. "I wish I'd known a long time ago just how far a plate of pancakes would get me. We could have avoided a lot of arguments," she laughed as she tucked a napkin under his chin.

"Are you going to feed me or just make me sit here and smell the damn things?"

She pulled a chair over and sat down in front of him. "I'm going to feed you. But remember you're not supposed to talk when your mouth is full."

Before he could say another word, she pushed a pancake laden fork between his lips.

"Chew," she instructed.

He did as he was told and while he was eating she elaborated a bit on his upcoming "field trip."

"It was Wesley's idea actually. He thought a stroll on the holodeck might be enjoyable."

Jean-Luc shook his head and started to protest.

"Ah-ah-ah," Beverly chided. "No talking. Drink some milk."

She held the cup to his lips, and Jean-Luc had either of two choices: drink it or be choked by it. He drank.

"Anyway," she continued. "According to Wes, he's come up with a fantastic place for you to go. That's the surprise part. I don't know what he's planning."

She set the cup down, and with scarcely a chance for him to breathe, fed him another bite of pancake.

"I think you'll like it though. He says it has something to do with history. Of course, that doesn't narrow it down much." Another bite. "It could be almost anywhere: Versailles, the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the Nuremburg trials." Another bite.

She continued to ramble and speculate until his plate was empty. She mopped up the last of the syrup and preserves with the last bit of pancake and popped it in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed.

"Can I talk now?" he asked, irritably.

"Of course," she answered, pulling the napkin from under his chin and dabbing at the corner of his lips.

"First of all," he muttered. "I do not want to go to the holodeck with your son. Or anyone else for that matter. And in the future, I would appreciate your consulting me before making plans for any 'field trips.'"

"Jean-Luc," Beverly leveled her eyes at him, blue, intense, "I understand your desire to retain a modicum of control in your life. And I respect that. But as your doctor, I realize that in your present condition, you may not always choose what is best for you. And so, I retain the right to make some of those decisions myself. And the outing to the holodeck with Wesley is one of them."

"I won't go," he said firmly. Who did she think she was?

"I'm not asking you to go; I'm telling you."

"Beverly-"

"Doctor's orders."

"Beverly, I told you, I will not-"

Just then the door to the room slid open.

"Wesley!" Beverly smiled, looking over at him.

Jean-Luc gritted his teeth and stared down at his knees.

Wesley looked at the captain, then at his mother, apprehensively.

"I hope I'm not too early."

"Oh, no, you're right on time. Isn't he, Captain?"

Jean-Luc glared up at her. At that moment, he was as close to hating Beverly Crusher as he ever hoped to come. He wanted to scream at her, make her feel what he felt. She was sending him out into the ship for the first time since the onset of his illness, sending him out where people would see him and stare at him and know that their captain was not invincible. But more than that, she was sending him out alone. Oh, Wesley would be there, but she would be here, in the relative safety of Sickbay. Didn't she know how much he needed her to be with him, where he was?

Apparently not, for the determined look on her face had not changed. He inhaled deeply, and answered, forcing his voice to sound pleasant.

"Yes, Wesley, right on time."

Beverly stepped behind Jean-Luc's chair and pushed him out of the room. Wesley followed close behind. As she wheeled him through Sickbay, heads turned, looked, smiled. They always smiled. Jean-Luc focused his eyes on his lap, where his hands lay, resting on his thighs, big, clumsy, and useless. He could still lift them high enough to activate the chair himself if he wanted, but why bother. They would do it for him, like they did everything else.

At Sickbay's main door, they stopped. And he felt Beverly's hand warm on his shoulder, gently squeezing. _I cannot do this,_ he begged her silently, _don't make me_ _do this._

"You two have a good time," she said brightly, relinquishing her position to Wesley.

"Thanks, Mom," Wesley replied.

The door opened and he pushed the wheelchair into the corridor. Jean-Luc looked back and up at Beverly. She smiled at him, that soft, gentle, lopsided smile of hers that in the past had enchanted him. Now it only aggravated. _You're a cold hearted_ _woman, Beverly Crusher,_ he thought as the door slid closed between them, separating him from the one person he'd counted on, depended on. The one person he'd believed had understood.

~vVv~

Beverly leaned heavily against the wall. She was shaking inside. If ever she'd felt like a wicked witch, it was now. Those eyes. His green eyes, filled with hurt and anger. Fear. She felt as if she'd betrayed him. _He trusted you, and you let him down. Told_ _him you'd be there for him, and then pushed him away._ She'd heard him crying out to her in those few minutes, had seen it on his face. He hated her, she was sure of it. But that was all right for now. She wasn't going to let him "slip away."

Beverly steadied herself, straightened her shoulders. A year-and-a-half ago she'd entrusted her son into the care of Jean-Luc Picard. And today, Wesley was returning the favor.

~vVv~


	8. Chapter 8

They stared. Discretely. But still they stared. He returned their smiles, their greetings, perfunctorily.

Wesley pushed him quickly through the corridors, perhaps sensing his discomfort.

And Jean-Luc was grateful when they reached the holodeck.

"So, Wesley," he began, staring at the closed portal in front of him, "your mother told me you've put some thought into this program."

"Yes, sir," Wesley answered, a bit surprised. This was the first attempt at conversation the captain had made. Except for the few, brief exchanges with crew members along the way, he'd been completely silent. "I know how you like history." _You should read more history, Ensign._ "And I thought you might like this program."

"I'm sure I will." Wesley was only trying to help. That's all any of them were trying to do. He felt as if he were on a roller coaster; his emotions turned, twisted, rose, plummeted. Only to rise again.

Wesley touched the control panel and the portal slid open. The scene inside drew Jean-Luc, caused him unconsciously to reach up and touch the wheelchair's control switch. He rolled forward into that other world. He'd been here before, long ago, as a young man. Earth, North American continent, United States, Virginia, Historic Williamsburg. He felt a smile, unbidden, spread across his face.

"Magnificent!" he breathed. The holodeck never ceased to amaze him.

"Mom brought me here when I was a little boy," Wesley said, standing close beside him.

Jean-Luc looked over at him. "Did she? I've been here before too. When I was... younger."

Wesley pushed him further into the village. They were on a tree-lined, cobble-stoned road, white clap-board houses on either side. Women in long dresses hurried along beside them. Bare-footed children played in the yards, laughing and calling to each other. Men on horseback clopped past.

"Williamsburg in its prime," Jean-Luc murmured.

They weren't dressed for this world, yet they received no curious stares. Only an occasional nod, a tip of a gentleman's hat.

The air was warm, the sun bright, and Jean-Luc felt himself begin to relax.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to see, Captain?" Wesley asked.

"No, just... wherever you'd like to go, Ensign."

Wesley pushed him to the end of the road, where the cobblestones ended and a dusty path disappeared into a grove of trees. To their right was a fenced in area. Horses stamped and whinnied behind the wooden slats. Wesley pushed him close. A chestnut bay stretched his graceful neck and head over the top of the fence.

"Ah, hello Beauty," Jean-Luc said, longing to stroke the horse's mane. He knew his arm would not reach that high.

"Try this, sir." Wesley reached down and placed several sugar cubes in the captain's hand, where it rested on his knee.

Jean-Luc looked up. "Where did you get these?"

Wesley grinned. "I brought them with me."

"You did put some thought into this."

The horse bent closer, nuzzling its soft lips against his open palm, noisily smacking at the sugar. The animal radiated strength, power. And Jean-Luc couldn't help wondering if he would ever harness that again, ever ride a fast horse through a computer generated countryside.

He sighed.

"Are you all right, sir?"

"I'm fine, Wesley." He looked past the horse to the other side of the enclosure. Smoke was coming from an open fire.

"Over there," he instructed, indicating with a slight nod of his head.

Wesley pushed him around.

"The village smithy," Jean-Luc said, his eyes taking in the livery stable, the smith, the various tools of the trade scattered about.

"'Under a spreading chestnut tree, the village smithy stands'," Wesley recited.

"'The smith, a mighty man is he, with large and sinewy hands,'" the captain completed, looking up at the teenager, an incredulous look on his face.

"Poetry, sir," Wesley said sheepishly. "Henry Wadsworth Longfellow."

"Yes, I know. I'm just surprised that you do. I thought the only thing you read these days were technical manuals."

"Literature course, in school," he explained.

"I'm glad you retained some of it."

Just then the blacksmith emerged from the shadowy recesses of the stable. And he was indeed large, muscled, and sinewy.

"Hello," he called as he plodded over to the smith, and pumped the bellows. The fire hissed and cracked as the sparks rose.

Wesley wheeled the captain closer.

"Can I do something for ye?" the man inquired, his voice slightly accented.

"Allow us to watch you work?" Jean-Luc queried.

"If it pleases ye," he replied, good naturedly.

He took a pair of blackened, metal tongs and picked up a half-formed horse shoe. He drove it into the fire and held it there for long seconds. When he pulled it out, it glowed orange. He placed it on a nearby anvil and with his other hand picked up a hammer. He swung at it sharply, metal ringing on metal as it bounced against the anvil. He was a man who knew his trade well, and took pride in his work. Jean-Luc could tell just by the concentrated look on his face. He'd always admired craftsmen, artists, people who could do things with their hands. He dabbled a bit with painting, but it wasn't something he was accomplished at, although he liked to think he had his own personal style. It was a hobby, but for this man, his craft was his life. Or it would have been, Jean-Luc reminded himself, if this were not the holodeck.

After long minutes of hammering, and shaping and turning, the blacksmith plunged the horseshoe he'd molded into a pail of cold water. It cracked and sizzled, steam rose. He drew it out. It was perfectly formed: hard, black, unyielding iron.

Jean-Luc was impressed. He glanced over at Wesley, seated on a stump. The boy was not. In fact, he looked decidedly bored.

"Interesting, isn't it, Ensign?" he queried.

Wesley blinked, as if snapped out of his own silent reverie.

"Uh, yes, sir," he answered.

The captain eyed him knowingly. Wesley felt his face flush.

"It's a little bit interesting," he admitted sheepishly.

Jean-Luc smiled. "I guess I'm not going to make a history buff out of you, am I?"

Wesley didn't know how to answer; he didn't want to offend.

"It was never really one of my favorite subjects," he finally offered.

"In that case, thank you for indulging me."

Wesley grinned. "You're welcome, sir."

_So much like his father,_ Jean-Luc thought. Even more so as he grew older. All those times Jack Crusher had allowed his commanding officer (and best friend) to drag him through museums on their shore leaves. Jack hadn't been much of a history buff either.

The blacksmith was going into the corral now, walking slowly toward the bay that had eaten the sugar earlier. The horse trotted back and forth, but allowed the man to approach him, reach out, slip a bridle over his ears, around his head, lead him out. He tied the reins to the fence, patting the horse on the haunches, bringing him around.

Jean-Luc watched and remembered. He'd shod a couple of horses in his time, held the hoof securely between his knees, felt the restlessness of the animal at his back. He looked down at his hands. It would be a long time before he did it again, before he did anything again. He began to feel shadows closing around him, that murky haze of doubt and self-pity.

The horse whinnied, stamped, and shuffled his hind hooves. Jean-Luc didn't look up, although from the corner of his eye he could see Wesley watching intently.

He'd probably never seen a horse being shod. The thought raced through Jean-Luc's mind, but other thoughts crowded it out. It was the roller coaster again; it moved of its own accord. The helplessness over-whelmed him. He kept his head bent, afraid to look up until the feeling passed.

"Captain!" Wesley's frightened shout came a moment later. Jean-Luc jerked his head up. There was something flying towards him. Instinctively, he tried to lift his arms. But he couldn't. He turned his face to Wesley, who'd launched himself towards the wheelchair in an attempt to move him out of the way. But he wouldn't reach him. In those few seconds of lightning, yet slow-motion speed, Jean-Luc knew that this hurtling object would reach him first. He steeled himself, even as his fingers fumbled for the chair's control switch. He closed his eyes tightly. But there was no impact. Nothing.

Then Wesley's voice, breathless, amazed.

"Captain?" It was a whisper.

Jean-Luc opened his eyes slowly, turned his head. A horseshoe dangled in front of him, six inches from his eyes. It was suspended in mid-air, held fast by an invisible force field.

"Computer, freeze program," he managed, though his voice shook.

The blacksmith stopped in mid-stride, the horse's head thrown back. Wesley was also motionless for several seconds.

"The failsafe," he finally breathed.

Wordlessly, Jean-Luc nodded in agreement. Wesley walked over to him. He could see that the captain was trembling. He started to reach out, impulsively, to touch his shoulder, comfort him. But indecision stopped him. Instead, he took hold of the horseshoe in front of him, the tingling force field collapsed, and the shoe rested heavy in his hand.

"I guess we forgot about the failsafe," he continued quietly, setting the horseshoe on the ground.

The captain did not respond. He dropped his head, chin almost to his chest, shoulders sagging.

"Program over," Wesley said.

Williamsburg disappeared, replaced by the black grid walls. With the illusion gone, the holodeck seemed small in comparison.

"Exit," Wesley said.

At the opposite end of the room the portal slid open. He pushed the captain towards it. The trembling had ceased, but his breathing was heavy, his hands clutched loosely to his knees. It had scared him; scared them both. And he realized, painfully, that he'd never seen Captain Picard frightened before. And that scared Wesley even more.

~vVv~

He looked worse coming in than he had going out. Sullen, withdrawn, eyes distant. Wesley didn't look much better. He cast his mother a scared, confused look.

"Gordon," she said softly. The medic stood a few feet from her, cataloguing a tray of drugs. He turned. "I think the captain needs some rest."

"Yes, Doctor." He stepped over and took hold of the wheelchair.

Jean-Luc didn't say a word, didn't look up. Beverly nodded and Gordon wheeled the captain to his room.

Wesley stood there, his eyes searching Beverly's face.

"Come on," she whispered, taking hold of his arm and leading him into her office.

She leaned against her desk, he stood before her, she held his hands in hers.

"What happened?"

He told her.

~vVv~

"Mom?" His lower lip trembled. "Is he gonna be all right?"

She reached up and smoothed his hair. "Yes, Wesley. It's going to take some time. But he's going to be all right."

"He's not gonna die?"

Beverly's heart jumped. "Oh, no, Wesley, no honey." She held his face in her hands, kissed his cheek, rested her forehead against his. "No, I promise. He's going to be all right." She pulled back from him, looked in his eyes. "He just needs us to be strong for him right now."

"I wanna be, Mom. But it scares me seeing him like this."

"I know. It scares me sometimes, too."

Wesley took a deep breath, let it out raggedly.

"It wasn't that bad, Mom. He wouldn't have been hurt."

Beverly smiled faintly at her son. "I think he knows that, Wes. Now."

Wesley was silent for several moments, seemingly examining the thumbnail on his right hand. Then he looked up at his mother.

"I think he was embarrassed because it frightened him, and I was there."

"Probably," Beverly agreed.

"Doesn't he know that we care about him and he shouldn't feel embarrassed with us?"

Wesley's blue eyes stared into hers. _Wise beyond his years,_ Beverly thought. _Where_ _did this one come from?_ She smiled. _From Jack._

She reached out, took his hands in hers, squeezed them. "He knows. It's just going to take him some time to understand." She thought for a moment. "Why don't you plan another trip to the holodeck?"

Wesley looked at her questioningly.

"For some time next week," she added.

"But, Mom..." he began.

"Wesley. What do you do when you fall off a horse?"

"Get back on," he answered, the worried expression on his face beginning to ease.

"That's right."

Wesley shook his head. "Ya' know Mom, you're pretty smart."

"Of course I am. Did you think you were the only one in the family who was?"

Wesley laughed and Beverly embraced him. A long minute passed before he pulled away.

"I gotta go, Mom."

"All right." She smoothed her hands over his shoulders. "I'll see you at dinner."

"Okay." He started to leave, but stopped, turned around at the door. "Mom..."

"He'll be all right, Wesley." A final assurance for both of them.

~vVv~


	9. Chapter 9

Will sat at the head of the conference table listening to Sam Abruzzi. His team had been on the planet for almost a week, and, instead of finding answers, they'd only found more questions.

"The ruins are at least a hundred Earth years old, possibly more. Very similar to dwellings that might have been found on Earth in the early 1700s. Very simple stone and mortar buildings. We've found remains of what appear to be farming implements, so it was more than likely an agricultural society."

"But you've found no human remains?" Will asked, somewhat impatiently.

"No, sir," the young lieutenant answered.

"And no clue as to why, after fifty years, these ruins suddenly showed up?"

"No sir," he answered again.

"What is your hypothesis on this Data?" Will turned towards the lieutenant commander sitting to the right of him.

"My assumption is that these ruins have not always been there, since they have gone undetected for so long."

"Are you suggesting that someone sort of set them down there?" Will inquired.

"A possibility," Data responded. "We have been unable to find any scientific reason as to why they have not been detected before now. The planet has no natural shielding, no gravitational anomalies."

Will mulled Data's words over in his mind. "Why?" he finally asked.

"Sir?" Data looked at him blankly.

"Suppose someone did set those ruins down. Why?"

"Unknown, Commander," Data answered.

Will glanced toward Sam Abruzzi and Janod Markham on the other side of the table.

"I couldn't begin to speculate, sir," Sam responded.

"Well, maybe we'd all better start trying," Will said dryly, more outdone with himself than the two scientists sitting next to him. After all, he'd studied the data and drawn a blank as well.

"We're branching out from the village," Janod informed. The slight blonde was the ship's top geologist. "Hoping to find some more evidence, other clues. So far, geologically, we've come up with nothing out of the ordinary. The planet is very Earth like."

Will nodded. "Starfleet has allotted three weeks for this expedition." He groaned mentally. Sure, there was a mystery here, but the sooner they were away from Taureb Prime, the better off he'd feel. "Will that allow you enough time?"

Sam and Janod exchanged a look, and then Sam answered. "Sufficient enough time to investigate fully, barring any surprises. Whether it'll be enough time to come up with any answers... Well, we'll do our best."

Will smiled tiredly. "I'm sure you will."

~vVv~

It was his first officer's idea. Wholeheartedly approved of by his ship's counselor and Chief Medical Officer. Three against one, and there was no beating the odds.

"You'll enjoy it, Jean-Luc," Beverly said as she pushed him along the corridors to the gymnasium.

"It's something I seldom enjoyed when I wasn't ill. Why do you think I'm suddenly going to be enthralled by it now?"

"No one said you were going to be enthralled."

"Damn," he muttered. "I haven't been enthralled in ages."

She laughed, and brushed her hand lightly against his shoulder. They were friends again, his experience on the holodeck two days behind them. She'd given him some time alone, and then some time with her, and he'd recovered. He tilted his head back and smiled up at her. He couldn't hate this woman for long.

"I don't look forward to embarrassing myself," he grumped.

He felt her swat him playfully on the back of the head, and he grinned in spite of himself. A month ago, Beverly wouldn't have done that. Wouldn't have touched him in so familiar a manner. But over the past weeks, and in and out of their days together, if there was one thing they were, it was familiar. Jean-Luc had ceased to count how many times she'd seen him undressed, how often she'd poked and prodded him in places he'd rather she not. They had deep, intimate conversations about life, and philosophy, and bodily functions. Indeed, Beverly Crusher knew him well.

"There's no need to feel embarrassed, Jean-Luc. Besides, it'll only be you, and me, and Will."

"Only?" he queried.

"The pool is closed for the afternoon," she answered. "Captain's swim."

"Beverly..."

"Don't worry. The sign on the door says closed for repairs."

He sighed. There was no getting around this.

The sign on the door did indeed say closed for repairs. When Beverly wheeled him inside, the huge room seemed eerily silent. But calming in a way. The water lapped gently at the side of the pool, the light shining on it creating shimmering patterns against the pale grey walls.

"Captain!" Will Riker called, his deep voice echoing, breaking the stillness. "Doctor!"

He stood at the opposite end of the pool, dressed in baggy white swim trunks, his hands on his hips. Beverly started to push Jean-Luc in his direction.

"I'll come down there." Will dove, slicing into the surface, hands cupping the water, powerful strokes carrying him towards them. Beverly pushed the wheelchair almost to the edge of the pool. Within seconds, Will reached them, surfaced, shook his head, slinging wet hair off his forehead. Beads of water glistened and dropped from his beard.

"Captain, glad you could make it," he said as he hauled himself to a sitting position on the side.

"I didn't have much choice, Number One." He glared up at Beverly.

"Stop complaining," she chided.

Will smiled to himself. Even he'd noticed the new slant to the captain and doctor's relationship.

"You'll like it. The water's not too hot, not too cold. It's just right."

"Thank you, Goldilocks," Jean-Luc replied.

Will laughed and pushed himself to his feet. He walked over to the wall, reached down, picked up a life preserver, brought it back.

Beverly untied Jean-Luc's robe, pushed it off his shoulders, drew his arms out of the sleeves. He was wearing a light blue swimsuit underneath, and he felt absolutely ridiculous. But he swallowed his pride, did his best to fend off the embarrassment rising inside him, and allowed Will to push his arms through the life jacket, secure it around him, fasten it across his chest.

His first officer stood back.

"Ready, sir?"

Jean-Luc cast one last look up at Beverly.

"He's ready," she answered for him.

"My doctor says I'm ready," Jean-Luc sighed.

"All right." Will leaned over, placed his strong hands under the captain's arms, held him firmly, lifted him out of the wheelchair. Lowering him to the side of the pool, his legs slipped into the water. Beverly held his shoulders, kept him steady, as Will slid into the pool and stood in front of him. The water wasn't deep here, just to the middle of Will's stomach.

Jean-Luc shivered slightly.

"Too cold, sir?" Will asked.

"A little," he replied, although he knew his reaction was not caused by the temperature.

"We'll do this slow then," Will suggested, as he cupped the water in his hands and let it dribble softly over Jean-Luc's knees and thighs, slowly acclimating him.

Beverly still held his shoulders, massaging them, loosening the tense muscles. She leaned down, put her mouth to his ear. "Relax, Jean," she whispered, her breath warm on his neck.

She straightened back up. He craned his head around and stared at her. "Why aren't you dressed for swimming?" he inquired, his eyes travelling over her uniformed, lab-jacketed body.

"Because I'm just here to observe," she answered, with that self-important doctor look she sometimes got.

"Coward," he humphed.

She only smiled.

"Ready, sir?" Will asked again.

He turned back around and looked at his first officer. He nodded. Will placed his hands around Jean-Luc's waist and scooted him forward. Beverly's hands drifted from his shoulders to under his arms. Together, the two of them lowered him into the water.

The life jacket caught him, held him afloat. His arms rose of their own accord, floating out beside him, resting on the surface. Will's hands were still securely around his waist, and he kept them there for several seconds until he felt the tension in the captain's body ease. And then he let him go. Will saw a look of panic flash in Jean-Luc's eyes.

"You're doing just fine, sir," he assured him.

"Thank you, Number One, but I'm not doing anything." His tone was a little sharper, edged with fear.

"Try moving your arms," Will suggested.

"I can't," he answered without trying.

"You can move them a little bit, Jean-Luc," Beverly said. "And you can move your shoulders." She knelt at the side of the pool. "It'll be even easier for you in the water."

"I'll help," Will offered, reaching out and taking hold of his hands. "Keep your head back, sir."

Jean-Luc tilted his head until the back of his neck was resting on the life-jacket. Will brought his arms out in front of him. The movement offset Jean-Luc's precarious balance and his head started to fall forward. He tilted it further back.

"That's it, Captain," Will smiled. He started to walk backwards slowly, pulling Jean-Luc along with him.

After several minutes, Jean-Luc felt himself begin to relax. The water flowed around him, rippling over his arms and shoulder. Will noticed the lines on the captain's face begin to soften.

"Not bad, is it, sir?"

"Relaxing," Jean-Luc murmured.

"Ready to try it on your own?"

He sighed. "I suppose."

Will stopped and let go of his hands. Jean-Luc flexed his shoulders, pulled his arms back slightly. The movement propelled him forward, not much, but a little.

"That's it, sir," Will encouraged, taking a step back.

Jean-Luc tried it again. He floated towards his first officer. A smile spread across his face. For the first time in weeks, he felt as if he had some control over his own body.

"You're doing great, Jean-Luc," Beverly called.

His smile broadened. Will moved farther away from him.

"Too far, Number One," Jean-Luc warned.

"No, it's not. You can make it."

Jean-Luc pulled his arms back again, his hands cupping the water, short, abbreviated strokes that carried him slowly towards Will. He was breathing heavily when he reached him.

"That was good, Captain." Will took hold of his upper arms, supporting him.

"Let me go, Number One."

"As soon as you get your breath back."

He breathed in deeply. "It's back."

Will let go of him, and they continued around the shallow end of the pool. Will moving out in front; Jean-Luc swimming to him.

"Can I do this on my own?" Jean-Luc asked after a while.

"On your own?" Will questioned hesitantly.

"As in by myself, without you," he said clearly.

"Captain-"

"Will." He fixed him with a firm gaze. "Go swim around."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Will swam away from him, towards the deep end.

"Jean-Luc?"

"I'm all right, Beverly." He started to turn and look at her, but he moved his upper body too quickly, and lost his equilibrium. His face fell forward, his arms thrashed weakly, helplessly against the water.

Surprised, he breathed in sharply. Water rushed into his mouth. He coughed, gagged, panicked. He couldn't breathe, couldn't raise his head above the surface. He shut his eyes tightly.

Forever passed before strong hands grabbed him, pulled him up. Will's hand pushed against his forehead, raising his face out of the water. He coughed, sputtered, gasped. Will's arm went around his shoulders. He was swimming, carrying him swiftly to the side of the pool. Beverly was there, reaching down, helping him out. Moments later, he was lying, shivering, on the deck. He gulped in air, struggling to fill his lungs with oxygen. Beverly leaned over him, comforting, rubbing her hand over his forehead and face.

"Easy, Jean-Luc." She rolled him over on his side, facilitating his breathing.

Will knelt beside him, unfastened the life jacket, pulled it off. He covered him with towels. Finally, Jean-Luc started to breathe easier, regularly. Beverly's hand was still pressed firmly against his forehead. He swallowed, looked up at her.

"Take me back...to Sickbay," he whispered, haltingly.

"You're all right, Jean," she soothed.

"Take me back. Now." There were tears in his eyes.

Beverly nodded at Will. He stood, leaned down, and picked Jean-Luc up in his arms. The captain's head sagged heavily against his shoulder. Carefully, he placed him in the wheelchair. Beverly wrapped his robe around him, tucked the towels over his lap and knees. Jean-Luc kept his head down, concentrated on each breath, fought the trembling panic he still felt. The embarrassment, at having lost his nerve in front of Will, Beverly. The fear of having lost himself.

~vVv~


	10. Chapter 10

He was drowning. Suffocating. Black water closing in on top of him. He couldn't move, couldn't scissor his arms and legs to keep himself afloat. Wanted to breathe, wanted to scream. Afraid of the water, cold, so black. His lungs hurt from holding his breath. He couldn't last much longer. He opened his mouth to scream; the water rushed in filling his nose, his throat. Death reaching out, pulling down. _Just as well,_ he cried bitterly, _just as well._

And then, suddenly, hands grasping his shoulders, lifting him up, bringing him back. Strong, gentle, familiar hands. A familiar scent, a familiar body, holding him close, cradling, rocking. His eyes flew open.

He was warm and dry. In his bed. In Sickbay. The light was dim and all he could see was the blue of Beverly's uniform. He clung to her, as best he could, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist, burying his face into the softness of her chest. Her hands were warm on his back, rubbing, trying to ease away the fear and pain.

"Shh, Jean," she soothed, his body hot in her arms, "you were dreaming. You're awake now."

He was crying. Deep convulsive sobs that shook his body. _Like the tears of a child,_ Beverly thought as she gathered him closer to her. Like Wesley, when as a little boy he'd awakened from terrible nightmares, dreams of his father's death.

Only then she'd been able to calm her child's fears. Now, she could only hold Jean-Luc. His nightmare did not go away when he opened his eyes.

She reached in, touched his face, brushed tenderly at the tears that were soaking through her uniform. His cheeks were so hot and she held her hand against them, wishing she had a cool, wet cloth to bathe him with.

"It's all right," she whispered, pressing her cheek to the top of his head. He was hot there, too, fever-hot. She moved her hand up, rubbing over the smooth skin, the bristly hair, coming to rest on the back of his neck.

After long minutes, the racking sobs subsided, slowly, tapering off to soft snuffling sounds, his breathing labored, irregular. Beverly realized that as she'd been rocking him, she'd started to hum, a tuneless lullaby. She looked down. His eyes were shut tightly, the corners of his mouth trembling. She didn't say anything more, just continued humming quietly, and rocking. Rocking him back to sleep.

~vVv~

He didn't remember the next morning. Or if he did, he didn't say anything. And neither did she. At least not directly.

He was sitting up in bed, fresh from his bath, when she walked in.

"Depressed?" she asked, taking note of his black pajamas.

He shook his head. "It's Tuesday. I have a system now. I always wear the black ones on Tuesday."

"I hadn't noticed. What's Wednesday?"

"Wait and see," he answered, eyes twinkling.

"Thanks. It'll give me something to look forward to."

"Glad I could make your day."

"You always make my day," she smiled as she sat down on the edge of his bed, brushing her fingers lightly across his arm.

He sighed. Not a sound of exasperation, but the soft, sweet sigh she'd come to recognize. The one he reserved for her.

"I asked Deanna to come down and talk with you this morning."

His eyes hardened and she felt the muscles in his arm tense.

"Why?" That one syllable carried a wealth of emotions with it.

"It's not the first time she's come to talk." Beverly tightened her hand on his elbow.

"I know," he admitted.

"So, why is this time different?" she asked gently.

The look in his eyes seemed to say "You know damn well why it's different," but he shrugged instead of answering.

"I just think there are some things you might tell Deanna that you wouldn't tell me," Beverly volunteered.

This time he said out loud what she read in his eyes. "I tell you everything."

"Jean-Luc..."

"Almost everything."

She frowned at him.

"Never mind," he mumbled. He took a deep breath. "I'll talk to Deanna."

"Good."

"As long as you stay." He held her gaze with his.

"Jean..."

"That's the deal," he bargained. "I want you here."

There was not so much fear in his eyes as there was determination. A direct order.

And she complied. "I'll stay."

~vVv~

Will Riker sat at the desk in Jean-Luc Picard's ready room, and thought, not for the first time, that he didn't belong there. It had been almost a month and it still felt wrong, like going into someone's house when no one was home.

He leaned back in the chair, swiveled it around, stared out the viewport. Space warped past, the stars never-ending streaks of light. He found himself remembering back when he was a boy. For hours he would sit and gaze at Alaska's night sky. So big and clear, but the stars had seemed so very far away. He'd longed all his life to be a part of them, surrounded by them, close. But now that he was here, they were still removed, singular pulses of light. And it had taken him a long time to learn that stars were not meant for touching.

It was just as well, because over the years he'd come to realize that the stars were not what he was reaching for. What he'd always wanted, deep down, he'd found right here on board this ship. The family he didn't want to lose.

It was that feeling that had kept him on the_ Enterprise_ when he'd been offered the _Aries_. The best place for him was here, with these people. And that hadn't changed. Yet.

He felt threatened and guilty for thinking about himself when the captain was struggling to hold on, to see himself through his illness. He had his good days and his bad; but lately it seemed the bad were outnumbering the good. And that worried Will. Maybe Beverly had been right. Maybe they were expecting too much of him.

The door chime sounded, so unexpected, it made him jump.

"Come," he called.

The door slid open. It was Deanna.

"May I come in?" she asked, even as she entered, the door closing behind her.

"You're already in," he observed, turning around in his chair, facing her.

"In that case, may I sit down?" She approached the chair opposite him.

"Sure," he answered, leaning forward, propping his elbows on the desk, chin against his hand.

Deanna sat, her dark eyes staring deeply into his blue ones.

"I'm going down in a little while to talk with the captain."

Will nodded.

"But I thought... you might like to talk."

"Me?"

It wasn't always one of his favorite things to do. With her. She knew him too well.

She nodded this time. "I sen-"

"Don't say it," he cut her off.

"Say what?"

"That word that begins with 's'."

"All right, I won't sense anything," she said with a smile.

"Ah," he grimaced. "You said it."

She frowned slightly. "Will?"

"Sorry," he sighed. "What did you want to talk about?"

"How you're handling this."

Will looked at her blankly. "Handling what?"

"Captain Picard's illness."

"I think I'm handling it just fine." There was a challenge in his eyes. Deanna had seen the look before. He could hide his thoughts and feelings so well from others when he had to. Best poker face on the ship. But with her, he was vulnerable. And more often than not, that put him on the defensive.

"Beverly told me about yesterday."

"Some diversion." Will's forehead creased. "He was pretty upset."

"And you?" she prodded gently.

She already knew how he felt, and so he gave in.

"I don't like seeing him like that."

"It scares you?" she supplied.

He swallowed, nervously, ashamed of how he felt. "Yes, Deanna, it scares me. It makes me feel..." He trailed off, unable to put the feeling into words, his eyes cast downward.

"Abandoned," she said quietly.

He looked up at her, opened his mouth to protest, but clamped down on the words before he said them. That was exactly how he felt. Like a child without a father. A feeling he knew all too well.

Deanna placed her hand on the desk, reached out. Will took hold of it with his own.

"I understand, Imzadi." It drifted through his mind, soft, gentle.

"He's like a father to me, Deanna." It was something he'd never told anyone, though he suspected she knew. "More like a father than my own ever was. All those arguments about my not letting him take unnecessary risks, go on away missions, it wasn't so much a fear of losing 'the captain' as it was of losing him." Will's voice was hoarse.

"I know," Deanna comforted.

"I feel like we're losing him now."

"Maybe we are. But only for a while. You know the captain. He'll find himself, and then come back to us."

"I miss him, Deanna," Will whispered.

She squeezed his hand. "We all do."

~vVv~


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** Thanks for reading! And thanks for the reviews. They are very encouraging! :)

Deanna sat in the chair next to Jean-Luc's bed. Beverly sat in the chair in the corner. She felt so far away from him. And she knew he felt it, too. He stared at her, the look in his eyes asking her to come closer. She smile slightly and shook her head. He turned his face towards Deanna.

Beverly was holding up her side of the bargain. She was there, albeit on the opposite side of the room, but still she was present. And now he would have to fulfill his side. He would have to talk, at least answer Deanna's questions.

"How do you feel today, sir?" she began.

Jean-Luc had learned from experience that she would not accept "fine" as an answer. It was too simple and didn't tell her anything. Actually, she felt what he was feeling, but she wanted him to put words to it.

He took a deep breath. "Tired."

"Physically or emotionally?" she prompted.

"Emotionally," he responded. "Physically all I do is rest."

"You went swimming yesterday."

Leave it to Deanna to cut right to the chase. He glanced over at Beverly. Of course she would have told her. He had very few secrets left to him now.

"And I didn't prove too successful at it."

"It was your first time," Deanna reminded.

"And my last."

"It's not like you to give up so easily, Captain."

"Give up?!" His voice was hard.

She sat there looking at him expectantly. He exhaled deeply, realizing what she was doing.

"You're trying to make me angry, aren't you?"

"Are you angry?" she asked instead of answering his question.

"No, Counselor, I'm not angry. I'm just tired." He allowed his head to drop back against the pillow.

"Of what?" she pushed further.

He looked back over at Beverly, wanting her closer, wanting her to answer for him. He stiffened with the realization.

"Captain?" He felt Deanna's hand on his arm.

His breathing deepened. It frightened him, this need he felt for Beverly. But the thought of her not being there frightened him more. He had come to depend upon her for so much. Perhaps too much. The thought was heavy in his mind.

Here he was, wanting to run away from Deanna's questions; hide, like a child, behind a mother's skirt. His fear frightened him the most, made him feel weak, ashamed.

"We have nothing to fear but fear itself," he murmured, not realizing he'd said it out loud.

"Franklin D. Roosevelt," Deanna supplied.

He looked up at her, eyes wondering.

"I read," she said with a smile. "And he was right you know?"

Jean-Luc nodded, not so much in agreement, but absent-mindedly, still fighting the urge to retreat, ignore her gentle probing.

"We all feel fear, Captain. Deep, overwhelming fear sometimes."

"I've faced fear before, Counselor," he muttered.

"But this is different. Now you feel incapable of fighting that fear."

He swallowed, trying to relieve the lump in his throat.

"It's too much sometimes," he answered, voice husky.

"I know," Deanna assured.

"But it's not a solitary battle, Jean-Luc." This from Beverly, who had quietly come and sat on the edge of his bed, where he'd wanted her to begin with. "It's not something you have to fight alone."

He looked at her, his eyes moist.

"Last night..." he murmured.

"We all need to be held sometimes."

"I was dreaming." Memory flooded back.

"I know."

"I was drowning."

"Only in your dreams," Beverly said.

"No. That's how I feel. Like I'm drowning, losing myself." His voice broke.

She grasped his shoulders firmly. "You're not losing yourself, Jean-Luc. You're still you." She smiled reassuringly. "You've just lost a little of that 'Picard Confidence.' But it'll come back when you begin to get better."

"It's never been easy for you to need people, Captain," Deanna contributed. "But now it's important that you allow yourself to, without feeling ashamed."

He glanced over at her. "You're saying, when I need a hug, I should ask for one?"

"Basically, yes," Deanna agreed.

"Take advantage of the situation, Jean-Luc," Beverly laughed, easily.

"If it were Will, he would," Deanna added.

That made him smile. Truer words were never spoken. The idea of his first officer being catered to and doted on by two smart, attractive women almost made him laugh. Will would love it.

"Thank you, Counselor."

"You're welcome, sir." She stood. "I'll see you later." And quietly left the room.

Jean-Luc blinked. Beverly pulled a tissue from her coat pocket and gently wiped his eyes, her other hand holding his chin.

"Thank you, for last night," he whispered. "I really fell apart, didn't I?"

She drew her hands away. "Because you've been keeping your feelings bottled up inside of you lately."

He licked his lips, but remained silent.

"Like Deanna said, there's no shame in needing people, in reaching out to be held."

"It's not something I do easily."

She lightly touched his cheek with her fingertips. "I know."

He closed his eyes, leaned into her, wanting to feel the warmth of her hand on his face.

"I need a hug," he murmured.

Smiling, Beverly drew him to her with one arm, keeping her hand pressed against his cheek. She held his shoulders, feeling the tightness ease, melt away. His breathing slowed, and his head rested on her shoulder. He turned his face slightly and kissed her hand, his lips soft against her open palm.

"You're developing a bedside manner of your own, Captain," she whispered, returning his kiss, gently, on the top of his head.

Theirs was more than a doctor/patient relationship, more than a friendship. But what it was exactly, Beverly did not know, and did not want to think about at the moment.

~vVv~

Will Riker rubbed his eyes with his fingers, then stretched, straightening his legs out in front of him. After six straight hours, even the center command chair wasn't comfortable anymore.

"Tired?" Deanna's voice on his left.

Will sighed, looked at her. "You tell me?"

"Exhausted."

He nodded. "And bored."

"Just another week," she reminded.

"And still no answers."

"Does there have to be an answer to everything?" Deanna looked at him, slight exasperation in her eyes.

"No. I just like there to be."

She swallowed. "I know."

"How's the captain?" he asked quietly.

It was the first time he'd asked since she came back from Sickbay.

"Doing quite well," she smiled.

"After talking to you." He looked at her knowingly. "Words to soothe a savage brow," he mouthed silently.

Deanna just smiled.

"Commander?" The voice belonged to Wesley. He was on the upper bridge at science station one. Will craned around, looked up at him.

"Yes, Ensign?"

"I think you'd better see this."

Will frowned slightly at Deanna, then stood and walked up to where Wesley was bent over the computer.

"What is it, Wes?"

"This." Wesley straightened to give Will a better view of the screen.

Since establishing orbit, the ship's sensors had been continuously monitoring the planet, systematic, geographical sweeps. A green pin-point of light was steadily blinking in the lower right hand corner. Will checked the coordinates.

"This is the first time anything's shown up in this area," he said quietly in hushed surprise.

Wesley nodded. "High traces of carbon deposits."

"Carbon?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any sign of life?"

"Not humanoid. Or anything else I'm familiar with."

Data, who had vacated his position at Ops, came up and looked over their shoulders. "According to these readouts, sir, there is a possibility of life forms we are not familiar with."

"Ensign, when was the last time sensors scanned this area?" Will looked down at Wesley.

"Six-point-two hours ago. And there was nothing there at that time."

Will thought for a few moments. "Data, Worf. Assemble an away team. Prepare to beam down as soon as possible."

"Yes, Commander."

Data turned, left the bridge, followed by Worf.

Will patted Wesley on the shoulder. "Good work."

Then he returned to his chair, sank down into it.

Deanna regarded him with her dark eyes. "Are you going to tell him?"

Will sighed. "Not until we know something more. There's no reason to concern him."

Deanna nodded in agreement.

~vVv~


	12. Chapter 12

"You remember, don't you?" Beverly's voice was soft, hushed.

His eyes scanned the surrounding mountains, the lake, the cabin. "Did you really think I'd forget?"

She sighed, walked around in front of him, sat on the edge of the cabin's porch.

"I try to every now and then."

He arched his eyebrow, questioningly.

"The times we all had here were almost too good. It hurts sometimes to remember."

The eyebrow arched higher.

"I know, it doesn't make much sense," Beverly waved her hand in the air. "Just... chalk it up to one of those female things."

Jean-Luc smiled. Not a broad smile. Just a slight, compassionate one, to let her know he understood.

"Yet you brought me here?"

She shrugged. "I thought you might like to be reminded."

He looked around again, and memories flooded back. Good memories. Good friends.

The little cabin in the woods. Jean-Luc remembered telling Walker that it sounded like a children's book.

_"Still, we've got to go. If we don't show up, Jack's feelings will be hurt."_

_They were eating lunch together in Starfleet's commissary._

_"I suppose," Jean-Luc grimaced. "But I really had other plans for my shore leave,"_

_"Aw, come on," Walker persisted, "it'll give you a chance to meet Beverly,"_

_"The doctor?" He frowned slightly. He'd heard Jack talk about her incessantly for over a month, now he actually had to meet her._

_"Yes, the doctor," Walker answered, eying him suspiciously. Then the light dawned, "You're mad because I introduced her to Jack first instead of you."_

_"Don't be ridiculous," Jean-Luc toyed nervously with a piece of lettuce on his plate._

_Walker grinned. "That's it. You know she's terrific. And you'Ve seen those holographs that Jack has of her. She's beautiful." Walker slapped the table with his open palm. "You're jealous."_

_"I am not," he denied loudly. Several heads turned, stared. "I am not," he said again, lowering his voice. "I'm just not overly thrilled at the idea of spending a week in the Canadian wilderness."_

_Walker leaned back in his chair. "Especially if you develop a crush on your best friend's fiancée."_

_"Fiancée?!"_

_"Always the last to know, um Jean-Luc?"_

_The first time he saw his best friend's fiancée, she was standing in the door of the cabin, dressed in one of Jack's old plaid shirts and a pair of blue jeans._

_Jean-Luc was still in his uniform._

_"I hope you brought something more than Starfleet issue clothing?"_

_"I did," he answered, pulling a duffel bag out of the back of the Jeep._

_The woman walked down the porch steps and approached him, hand out stretched._

_"You must be Jean-Luc?"_

_He reached out, shook her hand. "What gave me away? The uniform?"_

_She nodded. "That and the receding hairline."_

_Jean-Luc ran a hand over his head. It was actually long past receding._

_"Jack doesn't spare any details, does he?" His friend teased him unmercifully about his hair loss. He was used to it._

_"Very few. And he talks about you all the time."_

_Jean-Luc cocked an eyebrow at her, surprised. After meeting her, seeing her in person, the blue eyes, the pale ivory skin, the flame colored hair that glowed hot in the sunlight, Jean-Luc understood why Jack talked about her all the time._

_Compared to this, why would anyone talk about me? he thought._

_"He's told me all about you," he said, "several times over."_

_She grinned, knowingly. "I can't shut him up either."_

_Jean-Luc shook his head in agreement. "Where are he and Walker?"_

_"The other side of the lake. Fishing. They'll be back soon. Come on in."_

_He followed her up the steps and into the cabin._

_"It's not much," she remarked._

_Jean-Luc looked around. Wood floors, beamed ceilings, lots of dust. But even he had to admit, there was a certain, rustic charm._

_"You and Walker are bunking together," Beverly walked to a door in the far corner of the room. "Hope you don't mind."_

_Jean-Luc shook his head. "Actually we're used to it. We were roommates at the Academy."_

_"I didn't know that." Beverly opened the door to the bedroom. It was sparsely furnished: twin beds, a dresser, a chair. At least Jean-Luc assumed it was a chair buried under the clothes draped over it. One of the beds was unmade and shoes were scattered over the floor._

_"I was the neat one," Jean-Luc offered with a smile._

_"Glad to hear it."_

_Jean-Luc walked past her into the room, set his duffel bag down._

_"Don't worry. I'm used to this. I'll make him straighten it up."_

_Beverly sighed, "Don't give him too hard a time. After all, we are on vacation. Now, I'm going to leave and give you a chance to get out of that uniform and into something more comfortable. I'll go out front and wait for Jack and Walker."_

_With a final smile, she stepped out and closed the door behind her. Jean-Luc stood there, dumbly, staring at the space where she had been. Jack's holographs did her no justice. The soon-to-be Beverly Crusher was drop-dead gorgeous. And Walker was right. He was jealous as hell._

"Jean-Luc?"

The voice came from somewhere over his right shoulder.

"Jean-Luc?"

He blinked, glanced up. Beverly was there, staring down at him.

"What were you remembering?"

He took a deep breath. "The first time I came here." There had been several times afterwards. "The first time I met you," he specified further. "What were you remembering?" For he'd sensed in those silent moments together, that her thoughts as well had slipped back into the past. Back to Jack, he supposed.

"I was remembering the same thing," she answered quietly. "Meeting you for the first time."

He tried not to let the surprise show on his face._ Not Jack, but me,_ he thought with a sense of wonder.

"You were so funny," Beverly continued.

Jean-Luc eyed her carefully.

"Dressed in that silly uniform, in the middle of all this." She lifted her eyes to the blue sky and the tree limbs that hung overhead.

"I was dressed much the same way you are now," he pointed out. "Just a different color."

Beverly sighed, "True. But this is different. Things change." How well Jean-Luc knew that. "This is now, and..."

"That was then," he finished her sentence. He stared into her eyes, blue as the reflection of the sky in the lake, sparkling like the glints of sun on the water. "Not everything changes," he breathed. "You were beautiful then; you're beautiful now."

Beverly was quiet for a long moment. She'd always known she was an attractive woman. Jack had told her often enough. And there had been others. But hearing it from this man made it seem different. It was an affirmation of all those looks he'd given her through the years. The ones that, perhaps, she wasn't meant to see. Yet ones that reminded her she was attractive, desirable. Beautiful. It was all there in his eyes.

They both harbored feelings for each other that they rarely put into words. Maybe this was a beginning.

"Thank you," she murmured. "You're kind."

"I'm not just saying it to be kind." His eyes locked with hers. "I mean it."

She breathed in, smiled softly at him. "I know."

~vVv~

"It's just like the other one?" Will Riker stared hard at Data.

"Not exactly, sir," the android answered. "This village is laid out differently and slightly larger in size."

"Yes, yes," Will agreed. "But it's just another village?"

"Yes. The only significant difference being the presence of several rock structures that resemble ancient altars."

"Rocks with high carbon content."

"Precisely."

"But no remains of life forms?"

"No, sir."

Will ran a hand through his hair, exhaled tiredly. "Do you suppose someone just set these ruins down also?"

"Again, sir, there is that possibility."

"Abruzzi and Markham?"

"At the new site."

Will nodded. "And there's still a team at the old site?"

"Yes, sir."

"Worf," Will turned towards the other side of the conference table. "What are your thoughts on this situation?"

"I don't like it." His voice low, almost a snarl.

"Do you think our teams are in any immediate danger?"

"There is always danger. I trust the security people I have assigned to both sites, but I cannot guarantee their safety."

_No,_ Will thought, _there are no guarantees of anything._

Will sighed. "Data, you've relayed preliminary information to Starfleet?"

"Yes."

Will pushed himself back from the table, stood up.

"Data, you have the bridge. Worf, you're with me." Will stared out the viewports at the massive blue-green planet. "I want to check this place out for myself."

~vVv~

Will hesitated, not physically, but mentally, as he stepped onto the transporter pad, Worf at his side. That uncomfortable feeling he'd had for the past several weeks still lurked at the corners of his brain. He wondered if this planet bothered the rest of the crew as much as it did him.

He glanced over at Worf. The Klingon's expression was unreadable. As it usually was.

Will took a deep breath, looked down at O'Brien.

"Energize," he instructed. As the transporter effect took hold, the uncomfortable feeling at the edges of his brain slid uncontrollably, blindly towards fear.

~vVv~

Deanna stiffened, sat straight up, her hands holding tightly to the seat of her chair. Next to her, Data noticed her movement, started to turn and inquire as to what caused her reaction when his communicator sounded. He tapped it.

"Data." It was Worf's voice. "I have materialized on Taureb Prime. Without the Commander."

"Chief O'Brien? Do you have a fix on Commander Riker?" Data asked.

"No, sir," his words shook. "There was some sort of interference at the beam down point."

"Another transporter beam?"

"Unknown, sir. At least, not one of ours."

"Counselor?" he looked over at Deanna. Her face had paled to white, her hands still gripping the chair.

She swallowed. "I feel nothing, Data." Will's presence in her mind was gone. Completely. "Nothing at all."

~vVv~


	13. Chapter 13

Within the next hour, the research teams at both sites were beamed back aboard the _Enterprise_. Security scoured the area surrounding the second village, fanning out for miles around the perimeter. Sensors scanned the planet looking specifically for Will. The efforts proved futile.

"He's gone," Deanna said quietly, looking across the doctor's desk. "I don't need Worf's security or the ship's sensors to confirm that."

"Deanna," Beverly leaned forward in her chair, "just because you don't feel him, doesn't mean he's gone for good. There has to be an explanation for this."

"I know." Deanna inhaled deeply, pulling her blanket of tightly-woven control around her. "And as ship's counselor, my skills will be needed."

Beverly could see that she was struggling to hold herself together, fighting her worry and fear. Her relationship with Will was somewhat indefinable, but precious all the same. They cared deeply for each other. And Beverly couldn't even imagine what Deanna was feeling. For the man Beverly cared about, the one she worried over, was in a room, two doors down the hall, fast asleep, completely unaware of the events that had transpired during the past few hours.

Jean-Luc was safe and secure and here.

"You're right, Deanna. We will need you to fulfill your role as ship's counselor in this situation. But not in my office, and not right now."

Deanna sighed, and tears began to gather in her dark eyes. "From the moment I first met Will, there has always been a sense of him in my mind. His personality is so... forceful; I have never been able to completely escape him."

"Perhaps you've never really wanted to." Beverly reached into her desk and pulled out a tissue. She handed it to her.

Deanna took it, dabbed at her eyes. "Maybe not," she answered, "but I can't feel him at all now, Beverly. It is so empty."

She bent her head, her shoulders trembling as she sobbed into the tissue.

Beverly stood, walked around, and wrapped her arms around her friend. "We're going to find him, Deanna," she whispered. _Oh, God, please let us find him_.

~vVv~

They sat around the conference table: Beverly, Deanna, Data, Worf, Geordi, Sam, Janod. Even Wesley was there. And Beverly was glad, relieved that her son was where she could see him.

"We have not yet located any clues as to Commander Riker's whereabouts. There is no doubt in my mind that we are dealing with a power greater than ours."

"That is a distinct probability, Worf," Deanna spoke up. "But I am more curious as to what sort of intelligence we are dealing with, and why they took Commander Riker."

Data sat at the head of the table. "I have been in contact with Starfleet Command and they have instructed us to continue our efforts to locate Commander Riker." He hesitated. What he had to say next was difficult, even for him. "Starfleet has also placed me in temporary command of the ship. Due to the severity of the situation, they thought it best not to stress the Captain."

Beverly shook her head in agreement. "He hasn't been told about Will. And I don't think he should be. At least not now."

"Whatever you think appropriate," Data said. "We will of course trust the doctor's good judgment."

Beverly stared at the table, and the discussion continued around her. She heard what they were saying, but only peripherally.

_The doctor's good judgment_. The words, along with her thoughts, jangled in her mind. It was not her good judgment that kept her from telling Jean-Luc. It was her cowardice for not wanting to be the one to break the news, her selfishness for not allowing someone else to do it, and her fear of what telling him could do to his fragile, vulnerable state of mind. Another first officer, lost somewhere, on another alien planet. The very thought caused Beverly to shudder.

But it was slight and no one noticed.

She looked up. The meeting had concluded, and already they were exiting the room in pairs. Sam and Janod, Data and Worf. Wesley with Geordi, but not before smiling, sweetly and bravely, in his mother's direction. She smiled back. He was growing from a boy to a man, every day, in front of her eyes. And she was so proud of him.

"Beverly?" Deanna still sat across from her.

"Did I make the right decision? Not telling him."

Deanna hesitated. "Do you want my professional opinion, or my personal one?"

Beverly nervously rubbed her fingers over the cool, smooth surface of the conference table. "If you can still differentiate between the two, then you're doing a hell of a lot better than I am."

"Not really." A distant look steeled into Deanna's eyes. Then she gathered her thoughts and answered Beverly's question. "He is the captain, and as ship's counselor, I don't like keeping the truth from him."

"Neither do I," Beverly said.

Deanna nodded. "I know. But Beverly, if I were you, I would have made the same decision. Considering the circumstances, it was the best one to make."

Beverly exhaled slowly. "Thank you, Deanna." She felt a bit of the weight lift from her shoulders.

Deanna smiled slightly. "You're welcome. But I don't want to be in the same room with him when he does find out."

Beverly swallowed. "We'll have Will back by then."

Deanna stared past her, out the viewports. "I hope so," she murmured.

~vVv~

Hours crept by, and still, nothing. And though only key personnel knew about Will's disappearance, a sense of unease settled over the rest of the ship as well.

For Beverly, the most difficult thing of all was walking into Jean-Luc's room later that afternoon and pretending as if nothing had happened. She found she could not look straight into his eyes, for, if she did, he would surely see that she was keeping something from him.

She plumped an extra pillow behind his back and then sat down on the edge of the bed. She pushed his right pajama sleeve up over his elbow and began to massage his lower arm, the pressure and movement of her hands firm and methodical.

"You're awfully quiet," Jean-Luc broke the silence.

"Just concentrating," Beverly replied, not looking up.

"On my arm?"

She could see the grin on his face without having to look. It was there in his voice.

Beverly shrugged. "It's a very nice arm." She turned it over in her lap, her fingers absently tracing over the veins.

"It doesn't do much," Jean-Luc muttered.

"It will. Soon." She squeezed the long muscle below his elbow.

"Umm," he groaned.

Beverly raised her head. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

He shook his head. "You didn't." He was staring at her, and Beverly focused her eyes on his forehead.

"Actually it tickles more than hurts."

"Really?" She continued the massage, her touch gentler, softer.

"Yes. I'm quite ticklish actually."

She'd bent her head back down. "I'll be more careful."

Jean-Luc frowned. His admitting to being ticklish had been an open invitation for Beverly to tease him. And normally, she would have done so unmercifully.

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered immediately. "I am tired. Sorry I haven't much to say."

"It's all right." He closed his eyes. "We don't have to talk."

And so they didn't. Until later, when supper rolled around.

"Beverly?"

She looked up. Jean-Luc was staring at her intently.

"What is so damned interesting about that plate of food?"

She glanced back at the plate she was holding. Mashed potatoes, creamed corn, finely chopped chicken salad. Baby food, Jean-Luc called it but ate it anyway.

"It's either this or starve," he'd complain. And Beverly would grin and bear it.

His illness hadn't affected his thoracic muscles, but she was taking no chances.

She fed him another spoonful of corn instead of answering his question. He chewed and swallowed.

"You don't play fair, Beverly. I answer your questions. I answer Deanna's questions. No one ever answers mine."

She looked back up at him. He was pouting. Well, just pretending to pout. But it was still effective.

"Oh, you poor thing," she played along with the game and laughed, despite her worries. She'd known this man for almost twenty years, and now, daily, she was discovering different facets of his personality. "If your crew could only see you now," she smiled, lifted the spoon back to his lips.

He shook his head, refused to open his mouth.

She lowered the spoon, frowned at him.

"You've been pre-occupied all day," he ventured. "What's wrong?"

Beverly looked away, across the room, stared at the wall.

"Nothing," she murmured, shrugged her shoulders. "Like I said, I'm tired. Now will you eat this?" She tapped the spoon against the side of the plate.

"No," Jean-Luc answered, "I'm full." He turned his face away from her. Two could play at this game.

~vVv~

Guinan came almost every night, just after supper, right before his bedtime. She'd been visiting since his first week in Sickbay and she was one of the few visitors he felt comfortable with. She made no demands; he didn't even have to talk. She simply came to read to him.

They were a third of the way through _Gone with the Wind_. He lay there quietly, eyes closed, listening to her rich, mellow voice. But tonight, for some reason, he could not concentrate on the words. He opened his eyes, stared up at the ceiling.

"Something's wrong," he interrupted her mid-sentence.

"Well, the Civil War has started."

"No," he shook his head, looked over at her. "On board this ship."

"Why do you think so?" she asked.

"I feel it."

Guinan smiled. "You've been around Deanna for too long."

"Is there something wrong?" he questioned.

She hesitated.

"I'll answer that, Guinan." The voice belonged to Beverly. She stood in the doorway. "Would you mind leaving us alone?"

Guinan stood, laid the book on the table. "Of course not." She smiled faintly at Jean-Luc. "Good night, Captain," she said softly and left the room.

Jean-Luc fixed his eyes on Beverly. He repeated his question. "Is there something wrong?"

She looked down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

"Beverly?" His voice was hard.

She swallowed nervously. "Yes, Jean-Luc," she answered, "there is something wrong."

"What?"

She looked up, walked over to him. "The ruins of another village were found on the planet. Data took an away team down, and after he returned, Will beamed down with Worf, and..."

"And what?"

"Will disappeared."

Jean-Luc's face went white.

"As soon as he materialized, another transporter beam or something took hold of him. One that we're not familiar with. Sensors have scanned the planet, but there's no trace of him. All other crew members, except for security teams, have been beamed back to the ship."

"When did this happen?"

Beverly inhaled deeply, slowly. "Early this morning."

Jean-Luc stared at her, mouth slightly open, his breathing increased. Beverly saw the fire in his eyes.

"Will has been missing for over half a day, and you are just now telling me."

His tone was cold.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly stepped towards him.

"How could you keep this from me?"

Beverly ran a hand through her hair, brushed it back from her eyes. She could not answer him.

"Tell Gordon to bring me my uniform."

"Jean-"

"That's an order, Doctor." His eyes flashed, hot with barely bridled anger, yet the iciness in his voice chilled Beverly.

"I'll tell him." And she turned and left.

~vVv~


	14. Chapter 14

Beverly returned to Jean-Luc's room a half hour later. He was waiting for her, in his wheelchair, next to the door. It caught her by surprise to see him in his uniform, despite the fact that she knew he'd be wearing it. She'd gotten so used to seeing him in his pajamas or regular clothes.

She did her best to keep him well fed, but he'd lost about fifteen pounds in the past month, even though most of that was muscle weight. And the loss made the uniform look too big on him. It hung off his thin shoulders, threatened to swallow him up. Yet she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him quite so handsome.

The fire in his eyes had smoldered somewhat, and she no longer felt as if he were throwing daggers at her. In fact, what she saw in his eyes now was more doubt than anger.

"You don't have to do this, Jean-Luc," she said quietly.

"Yes, I do. My place is on the bridge, or at least my ready room. Not here."

"Data has things under control," she returned hesitantly. "Starfleet placed him in command."

She watched closely for his reaction, but he didn't even blink.

"I suspected as much," he replied instead. "But, still, my place is there. Whether I'm needed or not."

"Jean..."

"Beverly. Will means more to me than my silly sense of pride."

She reached out, squeezed one of those too thin shoulders, and smiled down at him. "I understand."

"I would like you to go with me," he asked slowly, "if you wouldn't mind?"

"Just try to stop me."

~vVv~

They emerged onto the bridge from the forward lift, and Data started to vacate the center command chair.

"As you were, Mister Data," Jean-Luc announced, his voice strong, authoritative. "You still have the bridge." He looked around. He'd been away too long, and he missed the familiarity of this place and these people. He noticed, with an aching sadness, that the chair at Data's right was all too empty. "I'll be in my ready room, reviewing what information we've accumulated thus far. If there's any change in the situation, notify me immediately."

"Yes, sir."

Deanna smiled at him. "It's good to have you back, Captain."

He cleared his throat. "Um, yes, thank you."

And then Beverly wheeled him into his ready room.

At the helm, Wesley felt a comforting warmth suffuse his chest. It was good to see him, in uniform, sounding like the captain. For the first time in over a month, Wesley felt a sense of order return to the bridge. Not that it had been disorderly. But now there was a rightness to things. The commander was still missing, but the captain was back.

~vVv~

Beverly stood with her back to the closed door and watched as Jean-Luc maneuvered his way across the ready room to his desk. He wheeled around to the other side.

"Here, I'll move the chair out of the way." She hurried over, pushed the chair back.

He looked up at her, a slight smile at the corners of his lips.

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" she queried.

"Not near as uncomfortable as I thought it would be."

"If you don't let your illness bother you, it won't bother them. You're the captain, and they depend upon you for your strength."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not very strong right now."

"I'm not talking about physical strength, Jean-Luc, and you know it."

He knew it; didn't always like to admit it, but he knew it. He'd put the uniform on (actually, Gordon had, but that was beside the point), it was back on now, along with the responsibility a good captain had for his crew. And if they looked to him for strength, then damn it, he'd give them all he could.

He nodded towards the computer screen on his desk. "I'd better familiarize myself with the situation then."

Beverly smiled as she reached over and activated the computer. "Welcome back, Captain."

~vVv~

The pager on his desk sounded. "Captain Picard."

He looked up from the computer screen. "Yes, Mister Data?"

"Sir, we have been hailed by an alien intelligence. They have asked to speak with the captain of our vessel."

"Do we have a source on them?"

"Negative. We are unable to trace their communications frequency. They are on standby now, awaiting your response."

"I'm on my way." He looked across the desk at Beverly. "Now maybe we'll get some answers."

He wheeled himself out onto the bridge. She followed. This time, Jean-Luc didn't object when Data vacated the center command chair and took over the ops station. Beverly sat down next to Deanna, and Jean-Luc positioned himself in front of his customary place.

"On visual, Mister Worf."

"We are unable to establish visual contact. We have audio only, sir."

"Understood."

Worf opened the communication frequency.

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets. To whom am I speaking?"

"My name is Aunell of the Kelton."

Data moved immediately to the science station on the upper bridge.

"You are the leader of NCC-1701-D?" Aunell continued.

"Yes, I am." He wanted to demand the return of his first officer, but there was no proof that they were responsible for Will's disappearance. He continued carefully. "Is there a specific reason as to why you have contacted us?"

"Yes, there is," the voice returned but did not expound upon the answer.

Jean-Luc looked up at the science station. Data shook his head. He'd found no information on the Kelton. "Is there something we can do for you?" Jean-Luc ventured.

"You have already done much," Aunell answered.

"But perhaps you can do more." It was a different voice. "I am Caiden. I must inform you that your first officer, Commander William T. Riker, is in our... care."

Jean-Luc glanced over at Deanna. She shook her head. She still sensed nothing.

"In your care?" Jean-Luc inquired. "Has Commander Riker been injured?"

"Not unnecessarily," Caiden replied.

Jean-Luc tensed, realizing the nuance of the Kelton's words. He clenched his teeth together, fought the rage that boiled inside, that threatened to spill over. "You have committed a hostile act of aggression against our vessel and crew. Why?"

"We need Commander Riker."

"Again, I ask you why?"

"He is in a position of high command upon your ship, is he not?"

"I will not answer your question until you answer mine. Why have you taken Commander Riker?"

"We cannot tell you our reasons. We are only contacting you now to inform you that he is with us and will remain so. We cannot return him to your ship. And you will discontinue your search for him."

"You cannot or will not return him?" Jean-Luc demanded.

There was a moment's hesitation.

"We require no further contact with you."

"Caiden!" Jean-Luc's voice was sharp, and he spoke quickly. "If you desire someone who possesses high command upon our ship, I offer myself. After all, Riker is only second-in-command."

Behind him, Beverly leaned forward in her chair, stifling the protest on her lips.

"You would do this?" It was Aunell again.

"Yes."

"Exchange yourself for you first officer?" Caiden's voice.

"Yes." Jean-Luc glanced over his shoulder. Both Beverly and Deanna were staring at him. He looked away. "Surely we can negotiate a trade of some sort."

"It is an interesting offer," Caiden responded. "One we will consider. We will be in further contact with you."

The frequency broke off.

"Jean-Luc-" Beverly started.

He turned his chair to the left, silenced her with the look in his eyes. Beverly leaned back in her chair. She would remain silent. For now.

"Counselor?"

"I still sense nothing, Captain."

He looked to the upper bridge. "Mister Data?"

"Our records contain no information or references to the Kelton."

"Well," Jean-Luc looked back at Beverly, "not many answers, but some things to think about."

_And talk about_, Beverly thought.

"Captain, may I see you in your ready room, please?"

She was already up and walking towards the door.

"You have the bridge, Mister Data," Jean-Luc said as he followed her.

~vVv~

The door closed behind him. Jean-Luc stopped his wheelchair and stared across the room to where Beverly stood at the viewport, her back to him. Her arms were folded across her chest. He couldn't see them, but he could tell by the way she was standing, the familiar hunch of her shoulders.

"You'd like to register a protest?" he asked quietly.

"Hell, yes, I'd like to register a protest." She swung around. Her arms were indeed crossed in front of her.

"Beverly." He sighed. "I didn't expect you to agree with my reasoning."

She gaped at him. "You call this reason. What's to stop them from taking you and keeping Will as well?"

"Beverly." He said her name again, calmly. "What's to stop them from taking any of us?"

She exhaled the breath she was holding, stared up at the ceiling, the anger she felt beginning to dissipate.

"I see why you're the captain."

He eyed her curiously. "Why is that?"

"You have the ability to look at things clearly in the midst of chaos."

"You have the ability also, Beverly. You're just letting your concern for me cloud your judgment." He shook his head. "I haven't been seeing things too clearly lately. But I've trusted you. And now I'm asking you to trust me."

"But you're the captain, Jean-Luc. And to quote you directly, your place is on the bridge."

"Technically, Data is in command of the _Enterprise_, and his place is on the bridge. And besides, in the shape I'm in now, I'm somewhat expendable."

He knew it was a mistake the moment the words came out of his mouth.

"Is that what you think?" Beverly shouted at him, so loud the bridge crew would have heard if the walls weren't sound-proof.

"Doctor."

"Don't you 'Doctor' me in that calm, captainly voice of yours." She was beyond angry, passing irate, heading for furious.

"Beverly, perhaps I chose the wrong word. I didn't mean it to sound the way it did."

She breathed in deeply, wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. "What exactly did you mean?"

"This is a difficult situation. One in which all of us feel... powerless. There is only so much we can do. Even if we were able to locate the Kelton, getting Will back by force is improbable. In fact, the only thing that may save him is my calm, captainly voice. I have to take the risk in order to bargain for his life."

Beverly sighed in acknowledgement. Of all the things Jean-Luc did best talking was one of them. If he hadn't made captain, he'd have been a hell of a con man. And if you took away his honor and threw in a little greed, he wouldn't have been a half bad Ferengi.

But he was neither. Just a captain concerned for a member of his crew. Ancient words flooded into Beverly's mind: Greater love hath no man than he laid down his life for a friend.

She could keep him here, pull rank, make it a doctor's order. But if she did, she would lose him all the same. Letting him go was the only way she could hold on to him.

"You better do some damn smooth talking."

Jean-Luc smiled weakly at her. "I'll do my best." He turned the wheelchair around, headed back to the door. "By the way," he stopped, looked over his shoulder, "I don't think captainly is a word."

~vVv~


	15. Chapter 15

They were on edge, all of them. Wesley coughed and half the bridge jumped. Jean-Luc suppressed a yawn. It was three hours past his bedtime, almost the middle of the night for him. He squeezed his eyes closed, wanting desperately to rub them. Funny the things you took for granted.

He looked over at Beverly. She knew how tired he was; knew half his brain was going Warp 10, while the other half was barely on impulse. But she hadn't embarrassed him, hadn't suggested he get some rest. Nor had she emptied a hypo-spray of stimulants into his arm. He smiled his unspoken thanks at her, knowing she understood.

"Captain, we are being hailed," Worf's voice broke the silence. It was followed by a collective sigh.

_Finally_. "Open the frequency, Lieutenant."

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard." It was Caiden. "We have considered your offer, and we are hesitant to agree."

Jean-Luc swallowed. "But why? Surely a captain would be more desirable than a first officer."

"Perhaps. But Commander Riker fulfills all of our requirements."

"Which are?"

"That is none of your concern."

"What if I can fulfill your requirements?" Jean-Luc asked firmly. "Let me meet with you. Then you can evaluate me."

"And if we meet, you will want to see your Commander Riker?"

"Yes," Jean-Luc admitted, "I would."

"Very well," Caiden answered. "Where would you like to meet?"

Jean-Luc blinked. He didn't expect that he would be calling the shots. He thought for a moment.

"Would the surface of Taureb Prime be acceptable?" he suggested, knowing full well that the _Enterprise_ would not be.

"Yes. It is acceptable. If you will relay the chosen coordinates."

Jean-Luc looked back at Worf. "The coordinates of the second village."

"Relaying, Captain."

There was a moment of silence.

"We have received them. We will meet you in one hour. And, Captain Picard, come alone."

~vVv~

"I think I should go with you."

"I will beam down alone."

"Captain..."

He looked across the table at his chief security officer. "Worf, that is what they want, and we will comply. Chief O'Brien," he looked to the man sitting next to the Klingon, "if at any time you are able to lock onto Commander Riker, you will beam him back to the ship immediately."

"I'll beam you both back, sir."

"If you are able to. But establishing a fix on the commander is to be your chief priority. Data," he looked to the other side of the table, "I will leave my communicator frequency open, so you will be able to monitor the meeting. Unless, of course, they block all transporter and communication abilities. In that case, all our plans will be for nothing." He glanced around at his assembled officers. "Any more questions or comments?"

"A request?" Beverly spoke from the end of the table.

Jean-Luc looked down at her. "I know, Doctor, you want to see me in Sickbay."

She nodded. "Precisely."

"In that case, meeting adjourned."

~vVv~

"You're really going through with this."

"Beverly, please, I'm tired."

She stared down at him. "I know. Just one more reason not to go."

"I'm going," he said firmly and glanced at the instrument in her hand. "And I suspect that hypo's for me."

"Stimulants. Enough to keep you alert for several more hours." She pressed it against his neck, just above the collar of his uniform. He grimaced slightly as the pressurized contents hissed into his skin.

Beverly frowned at the look of discomfort on his face. "It didn't hurt."

Jean-Luc arched an eyebrow at her. "When was the last time someone pressed one of those into your neck?"

She sighed. It had been quite a while. She rubbed her fingers along his neck.

"Better?"

"Yes." He studied the apprehension on her face, the worry in her eyes. "You understand why I'm doing this?"

She didn't answer.

"Beverly?"

"Yes, I don't agree, but I understand."

"All right."

She turned around, replaced the hypo-spray on the instrument cart.

"One more thing, Jean-Luc," she said quietly.

"What is that?"

Beverly looked over her shoulder at him. "Just come back."

~vVv~

Jean-Luc beamed down to the planet directly from Sickbay. In that split second before the transporter beam took hold and divided his body into a million minute atoms, he saw Beverly's face staring at him, big blue eyes filled with worry.

The smile he gave her dissolved into a sparkling column of light, and he was gone.

He looked around. The ruins of the village stood quiet and empty in the planet's late afternoon sun. Long shadows fell across the ground in front of him. There were no signs of the Kelton or Will. He circled his wheelchair, looked behind him. The trees of the forest were just six feet away, dense and dark, impenetrable.

"Data?" He inclined his head to the communicator on his chest. "Can you hear me?"

There was no response. He grimaced. He'd suspected the Kelton had the ability to block communications. Probably the transporter as well.

A shrill humming sound filled the air. Jean-Luc turned back around. On the other side of the village, some fifty yards away, the air shimmered, wavered and bent, seeming to fold in on itself. Then it solidified into three distinct shapes. Two figures were of average height, shrouded in hooded robes. And the third, the one in the middle, was Will. He was locked in ancient wooden stocks, his head hung forward, his hands to either side. He appeared to be unconscious, all his weight supported by his wrists.

"What have you done to him?" Jean-Luc called, activating his chair, beginning to move towards them.

"Stay where you are." The voice came from the figure to the right of Will, emanating from the dark recesses of the draped hood.

Jean-Luc stopped, focused his eyes on the being. But he was unable to make out the features of the face.

"What have you done to him?" he demanded again.

"Nothing that was not necessary." The voice that he recognized as Caiden's answered.

That same word they'd used before: necessary.

"Why was it necessary to injure him?" Jean-Luc queried.

"It was necessary to test him," Caiden replied.

"But why?"

"It was not our intention to explain our reasons to you, but since you offer yourself in his place, we will." He extended a robed arm towards Will. "Commander Riker has been chosen as a representative of your race. There is, on our world, a place for him."

"There is a place for him on our ship," Jean-Luc countered.

"You will find someone to replace him," Aunell said.

Jean-Luc lowered his head, took several deep breaths, looked back up. "When you say there is a place for him, what do you mean?" Visions of some inter-galactic zoo swept through his head.

"He will be a member of a select group," Caiden supplied. "His knowledge of your people, and his strength, are of great importance to us."

"I also possess knowledge of our people, Caiden."

"Yes," he agreed, "perhaps so. But do you also possess strength?"

"Why are you not standing? Why does that chair move for you?" Aunell questioned.

"I have been ill," Jean-Luc explained. "My body has weakened, left me unable to walk. But I will get better."

"You are useless."

"No, I am not," he affirmed. "I will grow stronger, regain my health. I can offer you knowledge and ability far greater than that which Commander Riker can. After all, he is just a first officer."

"Regardless of that, he endured our test quite well," Aunell said. "Something that you could not do."

"Not at this time, but soon I will be able to."

"Soon does us no good," Caiden responded. "Riker is available to us now."

Jean-Luc felt sweat gathering at the back of his neck, cold and clammy. His arguments were getting him nowhere. The one thing he needed to bargain with, he did not have. He was not strong. At least not in the eyes of the Kelton. But in Beverly's eyes... He remembered her words, the faith she had in him. His crew looked to him for strength.

"Caiden," he began, "it is true; I do not possess physical strength, but I am strong."

"Your words make no sense. If you do not possess strength, how can you be strong?"

Caiden's voice was truly puzzled, and in a lightning flash of illumination Jean-Luc understood. The Kelton knew no other strength than that which was physical. They were oblivious to the concept of inner strength, strength of character, of convictions.

"On our ship, we do not judge an individual's worth on his or her physical strength. That is why, despite my illness, I am still captain."

Neither Kelton responded. For several long moments they stood, motionless, and then they moved together, deep in discussion, Jean-Luc assumed. Minutes passed, and then they separated, turned in his direction. It was then that something hit him across the face, something he could not see.

Something that felt like a hell of a left cross. He gasped, tasted the rusty tang of blood on his lip.

"You are weak, and yet you retain a position of high command aboard your ship. We are appalled by this, and find it to be an undesirable aspect of your race. We have no need of you. Representation is not necessary."

And just like that, they were gone. They disappeared, as did all trace of their ever having been there. At the opposite end of the clearing, freed of his restraints, Will fell forward into the dust. Jean-Luc activated his chair, rolled over the uneven ground to his first officer.

"Will?" He couldn't tell if he were conscious or not.

Then his shoulders heaved, and he pushed himself up, lifted his head. He looked up at Jean-Luc, his face badly bruised, both eyes nearly swollen shut.

"Will." Jean-Luc winced, wishing he could reach out and take hold of him.

Will raised his hand, placed it on the Captain's knee. "I'm all right, sir," he managed, leaning heavily against him.

"Captain Picard?" The voice came out of nowhere. It was Data.

Jean-Luc breathed a sigh relief. "We're here, Data. Two to beam up. Directly to Sickbay."

~vVv~

The instant the transporter beam released them, medics moved over and lifted Will onto an examining table. Selar leaned over him.

Beverly went to Jean-Luc, placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. See to Will."

"Selar's with him."

"Beverly..."

"He's in capable hands." She rubbed her thumb along his lower lip. "And your mouth is bleeding."

"Umm... yes. I think I got backhanded."

"Think? What happened down there?"

Jean-Luc cast worried eyes towards the examining table. "Will?" he said again.

"All right," Beverly sighed, "I'll see to him."

She stepped over and looked down at Will. "Looks like you got backhanded several times."

Will smiled weakly, despite the pain. "An understatement," he groaned.

"You're going to be just fine," Beverly assured. She took the medi-scanner out of Selar's hands, checked the readings. "Just fine."

~vVv~

Beverly stopped in her office doorway, stood and stared silently at Jean-Luc. His wheelchair was next to her desk, and he sat there, head awkwardly bent to one side, resting uncomfortably on his shoulder, eyes closed. She wasn't sure when he'd left the examining room. Probably, in all the confusion with Will, he'd felt in the way. She walked over to him.

"Jean," she whispered, touching him softly on the arm.

His eyes snapped open, and he breathed in sharply, startled.

"It's me," she reassured, rubbing her hand over the familiar red and black uniform that covered his shoulder.

"Oh," he sighed. "How's Will?"

"Sleeping. Which is what you should be doing."

"I think I was." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then looked back up at her. "He's going to be all right?"

Beverly nodded. "In about a week. He's badly bruised, some cuts and abrasions. A few broken ribs, broken arm, bruised kidney. But nothing that's going to keep him down for long."

"Thank God," Jean-Luc murmured. "And thank you," he smiled at her.

"Just doing my job. And I couldn't have done that if you hadn't gone and gotten him."

He stared at her, wondering if she were still upset with him for going.

"I had to, Beverly."

"I know."

"I don't want to ever lose a first officer again." Her hand touched his, squeezed it hard. "Jack was my best friend," he continued quietly. "But Will... Will is more like..." His voice trailed off. He looked away.

"A son?" Beverly said softly.

Jean-Luc stared back at her, considered her words. "Yes," he answered after a moment's thought. "But don't you ever tell him."

She smiled. "He won't hear it from me."

"Besides, I would have been a very young father if he were mine."

"Oh, extremely young," she agreed.

They were on the edge of laughter, and the edge of tears, and Beverly knelt beside Jean-Luc, pulled him close, and together they gave into both: laughed and wept at the same time, for the same reason.

~vVv~


	16. Chapter 16

The stimulants wore off and Jean-Luc crashed, slept soundly for almost twelve hours. No dreams, no nightmares, no waking up with tears in his eyes. Just deep, dark sleep. Peaceful. Invigorating.

He woke to the familiar smell of pancakes and Beverly's smiling face.

"Good morning," she greeted him. "I was beginning to think you were going to sleep the whole day away."

He yawned in response. "That may still prove to be a distinct possibility."

"Not before you eat your breakfast," she countered, helping him sit up, fixing the pillows behind his back.

She looked at him and started to laugh.

"What is so humorous?"

"Your hair."

"What about my hair?" he demanded, a slight trace of annoyance in his voice.

"It's just sort of sticking up funny," she answered, reaching out and smoothing her hand along the side of his head. "I think it needs a trim."

He looked at her sharply.

"Don't worry," she laughed again, "it won't hurt."

"I know that, Beverly," he sighed. "Can I eat now?"

She drew her hand away. "Why are you in such a hurry this morning?"

"I'd like to talk to Will," he answered. "Is he awake?"

"Oh, yes," Beverly smiled and rolled her eyes. "He's definitely awake.

~vVv~

"Deanna!" Will shouted loud enough to wake the dead.

Moments later, Deanna appeared in the doorway.

"William Riker," she scolded. "You are not the only patient in Sickbay. There are others who are trying to get some sleep."

He frowned. "But you said you were coming right back."

"I haven't even been gone five minutes," she sighed, shaking her head as she crossed over to him. She sat down in the chair next to his bed.

"It seemed longer," he said, voice suddenly quiet, eyes downcast.

Deanna reached out and took hold of his hand. She'd sat with him most of the night, wanting to be there if he awakened. And he had, several times, calling out her name fervently, calming down only when she touched him. His fear was overwhelming, dark, so deep it frightened her. But it was morning now, and she could feel it beginning to lighten, recede.

"Do you want to talk?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "Not now."

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Thirsty?"

"Uh-uh... just... sit with me, all right?"

"All right." She squeezed his hand, smiled at him. He smiled back tiredly, then stared up at the ceiling. He could feel her in his mind. Her presence strong, comforting - a light held up against the darkness. _But was it bright enough?_ He shuddered. Her grip on his hand strengthened.

"I'm here, Imzadi, I'm here." The silent words washed over him, through him, and he held on to them, wanting desperately to believe that she would always be there.

"I will be," she whispered.

Will turned, looked at her, started to respond when the door to his room slid open. The captain wheeled in, followed by Beverly.

"Good morning Number One, Counselor." His voice was forceful, commanding. Behind him, Beverly smiled. She would have described it as "captainly."

Deanna let go of Will's hand, stood up. "Good morning, sir."

Will started to push himself up on his good arm.

"At ease, Number One."

Will grinned self-consciously, settled back into the pillows. Jean-Luc came closer to the bed. "How are you?"

"Better."

"That's good. Do you feel like talking?"

Will shifted his eyes towards Deanna. He felt, rather than saw, her almost imperceptible nod - unspoken permission to tell the captain what he'd been unwilling to tell her.

Deanna understood. It wasn't that Will didn't want to talk to her, because he did. He just didn't want her too close to what he was feeling. At least not yet.

"That sounds like a good idea, Captain," Deanna said. "Doesn't it, Will?"

"Yes, it does," Will answered, smiling at her, and whispering "thank you" silently in his mind.

She reached out, touched his blanket-covered knee. "I'll be back later," she promised.

"So will I," Beverly added, pointing a finger at Will, "because you need your rest, and you," she looked down at Jean-Luc, "have a therapy session with Selar."

"Yes, Doctor," Jean-Luc sighed.

Beverly and Deanna left the room, both glancing back as the door slid closed. Their faces wore matching worried expressions until each caught sight of the other and they started to laugh.

"We're like mother hens," Beverly blurted.

"With two very big chicks," Deanna added, catching her breath.

Beverly smiled, wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm just so relieved they found their way back to the barn."

Deanna returned her smile, her own eyes glistening with joyful tears. "So am I," she whispered.

They reached out, embraced each other. Then Beverly pulled back. "Are you hungry?"

Deanna thought for a moment, then answered. "I'm starved."

"So am I," Beverly agreed. "When was the last time you ate?"

Deanna shook her head. "I can't even remember."

"Neither can I. And as chief medical officer I prescribe a big, complete breakfast for the both of us."

"As ship's counselor, I concur."

~vVv~

"They tend to hover, don't they?" Will nodded towards the door as it slid closed.

"Yes," Jean-Luc agreed, "but it's their job."

"Sometimes they do their job a little too well."

Jean-Luc cast a meaningful glance at his first officer. "Sometimes I'm glad they do."

Will nodded. "How's the ship?"

"Fine. Data's taking good care of her for us."

A long silence stretched out between them, which Jean-Luc finally broke.

"We seem to have switched places."

"Yeah," Will sighed and rubbed his eyes with his right hand. "You're visiting me now."

Jean-Luc shook his head. "You'll still get out of here before I do. I can't even rub my own eyes," he added, somewhat enviously.

Will looked at him. The captain grinned mischievously. "Beverly rubs them for me."

"Oh," Will said, a sly look steeling into his eyes.

"The good doctor says you're going to be just fine in about a week," Jean-Luc supplied.

"I know, but..." Will's voice trailed off, his gaze distant.

Jean-Luc drew a deep breath. "What happened, Number One?"

Will closed his eyes tightly, as if trying to block out the captain's question.

"What happened?" Jean-Luc repeated.

"I don't remember," Will answered, eyes still closed.

"Are you sure?" Jean-Luc pressed carefully. "Think back."

Will opened his eyes but didn't look at him. Focused, instead, on the ceiling.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Will licked his lips. "I was on the transporter pad with Worf... and O'Brien energized the beam... and..." Will swallowed. "It was dark. All around me. And I couldn't move. I tried, but it felt like my arms and legs were tied."

"Then what?"

He shook his head, fighting the memory. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do," Jean-Luc's voice was gentle, but firm. "Tell me what happened, Will."

"Uh..." Will let out a ragged breath, then inhaled deeply. It was coming back to him, despite his subconscious effort to push it away. "I was there for a long time. I don't know where, or how long, but it seemed like forever."

"Were you alone?"

"I don't think so."

"You couldn't see anyone?"

"I couldn't see anything. But they were there... watching me."

"Who?"

Will rubbed at his eyes again. They were wet. "I don't know."

Jean-Luc wished he could reach out and touch his first officer on the arm, but he couldn't. "You're doing just fine, Will," he offered instead. "Why do you think they were watching you?"

"I felt them." He shuddered at the memory. "Could feel their eyes."

"Did they touch you?"

"Not at first," Will answered after a long moment of silence. "It was dark, my clothes were still on, but they could see me. It's like they were studying me. And then I fell."

"Fell?"

Will nodded. "Like someone cut a rope and dropped me. I don't know how far. Far enough so that it hurt like hell when I landed."

"Did they talk to you?"

"No, never. I don't remember any voices until I came to on the planet, and you were there."

"Will," Jean-Luc hesitated, hated asking these questions, knew he had to. "After you fell, after they dropped you?"

"They beat me." His voice was small, far away. He closed his eyes again. "At first, it felt like they were just prodding at me, examining me. But it got rougher... they were kicking me, hitting... harder... it felt... it felt like..." He pressed his hand to his forehead.

"It's all right, will."

Will slowed his breathing, reminded himself that he was on the _Enterprise_.

"Relax," Jean-Luc said quietly.

"Sorry, Captain," Will murmured.

"No. I'm sorry for having to ask these questions. But I need to know, and you need to talk about it."

Will smiled weakly and continued. "After they stopped, they left me there. I was so alone. I didn't even feel..."

"Deanna?"

He glanced at the captain quickly, then looked away.

"There's always a sense of her in my mind. A link that we've shared for a long time. It's hard to explain, but..." He looked back at Jean-Luc. "You knew?"

"I suspected," Jean-Luc answered apologetically. "I... know a little bit about Betazoids."

Will just nodded. "Oh."

"After they left you alone?"

Will frowned. "I passed out. Woke up on the planet, and I heard your voice. I wanted to look up, but I couldn't lift my head. It just felt heavy." He paused, stared at Jean-Luc. "Why did they do it? If they were testing my strength, why didn't they let me fight back?"

"Maybe they wanted to see how much you could endure." Jean-Luc shook his head. "I just don't know. But they're gone now. Both villages have disappeared. The sensors still detect no trace of them. The computer has no record of them. It's almost as if it never happened."

"It happened," Will's voice was hard, dull.

"I know. But it's over now."

"I want to thank you for what you did."

Jean-Luc smiled. "You're welcome. But who'd have ever thought that my inability to move would get us out of this situation."

"I think the Kelton passed up a good deal. You're the strongest man I know, Captain."

"What have I told you about flattery, Number One?" Jean-Luc laughed.

"Save it until I need it?"

"Exactly. But what you need right now is some rest."

"Yes, sir."

Jean-Luc turned his chair around, headed for the door.

"Captain?"

He looked back over his shoulder. Will was smiling at him.

"What you said to the Kelton, about me being just a first officer. Is that all I am?"

Jean-Luc chuckled. "No, Will, you're not just a first officer; you're a hell of a first officer, and much more."

~vVv~


	17. Chapter 17

He woke the next morning feeling stronger. At first, he thought it was all in his head. That he felt that way because Will was back, and the crew and ship were safe. But Selar noticed it during his physical therapy as his fingers easily lifted a small, weighted block and placed it on another one.

"You're hands are getting stronger, Captain," she remarked as she removed the block.

Jean-Luc repeated the movement, again with very little effort.

"Doctor Crusher is going to be impressed," Selar said.

"Ah," he hesitated, "could we not tell her just yet. I, uh..."

"Want to surprise her?"

"Yes," he answered, grinning sheepishly.

And surprise her, he did, when two days later, during lunch, he took the fork out of her hand, and proceeded to feed himself. Albeit slowly, but determined.

Beverly stared at him. "When did this happen?"

"Started a couple of days ago."

"And you didn't tell me?"

He shook his head. "And I asked Selar not to."

"Keeping information from your doctor?"

Jean-Luc smiled.

"You're proud of yourself," Beverly accused.

"Damn proud."

She touched him lightly on the shoulder. "You have reason to be."

Jean-Luc finished his lunch, and Beverly watched. His arms grew tired, but he refused to let her help. Half the food landed on the front of his pajamas, but neither of them cared. He was getting better, and that's all that mattered.

~vVv~

A week later he had regained complete use of his upper body, his arms, hands. Could bend forward, reach for things, push himself into a sitting position. He grew fatigued easily, spent more time napping, but the added freedom was worth it, made him desirous for more.

"You want what?" Beverly sat down on the edge of his bed, arms crossed in front of her.

"You released Will," he said.

"We had to get him out of here because he was better, and driving us all crazy."

"I'm better."

"Yes, you are," Beverly's voice softened. "You're getting stronger every day. But you're still far from completely well, Jean-Luc."

"Beverly, just hear me out," he continued. "What difference would it make? A room is a room, whether it's here or there. I can get more work done in my quarters. Still come here for therapy."

Beverly arched an eyebrow at him.

He rolled his eyes in response. "I've been wheeling through the corridors for the past week now. I'm getting used to it. Coming here once or twice a day is no problem."

_Once or twice a day._ The words stood out in Beverly's mind. "What if you need something?"

"If it's something I can't do for myself, I'll call Gordon. And," he reached out, placed his hand on her arm, "there is no doubt in my mind that I will see you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Even if your assistance is no longer needed, your company is."

Beverly smiled self-consciously. His arguments were better than hers. They usually were.

"I'll have to think about it," she answered carefully.

"Beverly!"

"Don't push me on this, Jean-Luc."

He sighed, drew his hand away from her arm. "All right, Doctor. I'll be a good little boy. Just let me know what you decide."

He leaned back in the pillows, rubbed his eyes. Something he'd been doing a lot lately, to make up for all the weeks when he hadn't been able to.

"Stop rubbing them, Jean-Luc," Beverly said quietly.

"They're my eyes," he replied, but he lowered his hand all the same, closed his eyes instead.

Beverly looked at him. She couldn't tell him her arguments. Because she had only one, and was reluctant to admit it. Even to herself.

If she let him go, she would miss him. She'd grown so accustomed to always knowing where he was, what he was doing, how he felt at any moment of the day. If he woke in the middle of the night, she could be at his side in a matter of moments, soothe him back to sleep if he was troubled by a nightmare, or sit and talk if he was just lonely. And sometimes, if he didn't wake, Beverly would just sit by his bed and watch him.

Like she was watching him now.

"All right," she murmured.

Jean-Luc's eyes opened. "All right?" he asked hesitantly.

She sighed. "Yes. You can go back to your quarters tomorrow. But I insist that Gordon stay with you for a couple of days."

Jean-Luc started to protest, thought better of it. "Thank you," he offered instead.

Beverly stood, shook her hair back from her face. "You're welcome."

She walked over to the door.

"Beverly." His voice stopped her. She looked back.

"I'll miss you, too," he said gently.

~vVv~

Will glanced around the interior of Ten Forward.

"We need a party," he announced.

"What?" Deanna asked from the other side of the table.

"A party," he repeated, looking back at her, excitement growing in his eyes. "A big party."

"Why?"

Will frowned slightly. "What do you mean why?"

"Who are we having a party for?"

"Oh. I forgot. You're one of those people."

"Will Riker, what is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

He leaned across the table. "One of those people who has to have a reason to celebrate," he teased.

Deanna laughed. "Most people usually do."

"I don't."

"No," Deanna agreed, "but you're not most people."

Will grinned. "I'm special, uh?"

"I didn't say that."

Will threw his hands up. "All right. Let's have a party for..." he hesitated, "what the hell, let's have a party for me."

"For you?"

Will nodded. "In celebration of my returning to the ship. We'll have it here. Invite everybody. And you can coordinate it."

Deanna's eyes grew wider. "Just one minute. I'll admit that I'm glad you're back, but I'm not that glad."

"All right. We'll coordinate it."

Deanna looked at him reprovingly.

Will smiled. "I'll coordinate it."

Deanna sighed, gave in. "I'll help."

~vVv~

Friday night and the party was in full swing, when the doors to Ten Forward slid open, and the captain wheeled in. Beverly breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him. She'd been afraid that he wasn't going to show. Earlier that afternoon he'd politely, but firmly, refused her invitation to accompany him.

"Let me show up on my own, Beverly. Without my personal physician tagging along." He smiled. "This carefree, independent life I'm leading now suits me."

He'd been back in his cabin now for a little over two days, and according to Gordon, who reported directly back to Beverly, was doing fairly well on his own.

"All right," she'd sighed. "I'll meet you there. After all, I wouldn't want to cramp your style."

She'd been watching for him, for the past hour, out of the corner of her eye.

Now, he was finally here. She broke away from a small group of friends, went over to him.

"You're late," she said with a smile.

"I'm not just late," Jean-Luc answered. "I'm fashionably late."

"Oh, I see."

"No, you don't see," he explained further. "I'm literally fashionably late. Gordon and I have never tackled a dress uniform before. We almost never got me into it."

Beverly nodded in understanding. "Now I see."

Jean-Luc's cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. "It wasn't a pretty sight."

"Well, you're here now. And that's the important thing." She gave him a good once-over. "And if you don't mind me saying so, you look splendid."

"Thank you, Doctor. And may I say, you look radiant tonight."

"By all means, Captain, say it as much as you like."

He smiled. She did look especially beautiful. The royal blue taffeta gown fell softly off her shoulders, exposing the creamy white silkiness of her skin, the color accentuating her eyes. Her hair was swept up, back off her face, except for little red-gold wisps around her ears. Jean-Luc's smile broadened. He wasn't sure if he'd ever seen her ears before.

"What?" she questioned the look in his eyes.

"You really look lovely in blue."

"Shh," she whispered, " someone might hear you."

But the party going on around them was loud, and despite their weighty positions aboard ship, they were drawing very little notice. Only Guinan, who seemed to have the ability to watch everyone at once, stood at the bar, looking at them.

"But blue is definitely your color," he insisted.

"I know. Why do you think I chose to become a doctor in Starfleet?"

"The uniform?"

Beverly grinned. "It was a deciding factor."

Jean-Luc tilted his head back and laughed, a deep rich sound that Beverly never grew tired of.

"So," he said after a moment, "where's the guest of honor?"

Beverly glanced in Will's direction. He was seated at a table near the viewports, surrounded by a dozen or so people.

"Our first officer loves a good party doesn't he?" Jean-Luc commented.

"Yes, he does. But as far as I'm concerned, there are two guests of honor at this party." She touched his shoulder, nodded towards the bar. "Would you care to join me in a toast?"

"Lead the way."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather push." She took hold of the back of his wheelchair.

He shot her one of his independent looks.

"It'll give me something to hold onto. You know how I am at parties."

He looked at her slyly. "You're a social butterfly, Beverly, and you know it."

"Wallflower is more like it," she chuckled and pushed him towards the bar.

"Doctor, Captain," Guinan greeted them, "what can I get for you?"

"Two Irish Coffees," Beverly answered, looking to Jean-Luc for approval.

He nodded. "Sounds good."

"Two Irish Coffees coming up." Guinan turned away.

Beverly sat down on a stool, leaned her back against the edge of the bar.

Jean-Luc stared at her. She was the only woman he knew who could sit on a barstool in a taffeta dress and look entirely comfortable. He followed her gaze to the middle of the room where tables and chairs had been moved away to allow for a dance floor.

"Umm, an older woman, Beverly." He'd caught sight of Wesley dancing with Ensign Sonya Gomez.

"Meaning what?" Beverly queried, reaching back and taking the drinks Guinan offered. "Thanks." She handed him one.

He took a tentative sip. The warmth spread through his chest.

"Meaning... meaning that Gomez is out of her league."

Beverly laughed, reached over and brushed her fingers over his nose.

"Beverly?"

"You had whip cream on your nose."

He reached up. "You could have told me," he admonished.

"Sorry. I will next time."

She took a sip of her own drink, being careful of the cream.

"We forgot our toast," Jean-Luc reminded.

"So we did."

She reached out, clinked her glass against his. "To yours and Will's safe return," she smiled at him with her eyes, "and may neither of you stray so far again."

"And if we do," Jean-Luc added, "may you always be there to welcome us home."

They drank to it. Smiled at each other.

Beverly looked back out at the dancers, began to sway to the music.

"Sorry I can't ask you to dance," Jean-Luc murmured.

"I'd just as soon watch."

Deanna walked over. "May I join you?"

"By all means," Jean-Luc answered, "just pull up a stool."

And so Deanna did, and became the second woman Jean-Luc knew who could sit comfortably on a barstool while wearing a formal dress. Only Deanna's wasn't taffeta. It was velvet: a strapless, dusty rose affair that was stunning.

"Will seems to be in fine form tonight," Beverly remarked, glancing over at the crowd gathered around the first officer.

"Almost too fine," Deanna returned.

"Oh?"

"I can handle only so many of his stories," she sighed.

"Do I sense a little unease among the ranks?" Jean-Luc ventured.

"Oh, no Captain," Deanna laughed. "Not unease. Boredom. Will tends to tell the same old stories again and again. I've heard them all a million times, and I can't swear to the authenticity of any of them."

"Will does have a way with words," Jean-Luc agreed, looking over at his first officer. Then he suppressed a grin when he saw Will drape an arm around Lieutenant Mara Coleman's shoulder.

"And women," Deanna said out loud what all three of them were thinking.

"Counselor, would you like an Irish Coffee?"

Deanna turned around, accepted the drink Guinan offered. "Thank you. Your timing is wonderful."

The woman simply smiled.

Jean-Luc looked back over his shoulder at her. "Guinan, won't you have a drink with us?"

"Thank you, sir, but I never drink on the job."

"But this is a party. We're all supposed to be having a good time."

Guinan smiled. "I have a good time Captain, making sure everyone else has a good time. Now," she looked at each of them, "can I bring you something to eat?"

"To eat?" The captain looked confused.

Beverly leaned over to him. "This is a party, Jean-Luc. You get to eat and drink," she teased.

"Really?" He played along.

Deanna smiled at their game.

"Yes, really," Beverly answered.

"In that case," Jean-Luc glanced back a Guinan, "bring me a plateful."

~vVv~


	18. Chapter 18

A plateful consisted of ham and turkey sandwiches, fruit salad, guacamole and chips, Denevan baked pears, chocolate chip cookies, Dovlerian soufflé, Thalian chocolate mousse, and Black Forest cake.

Jean-Luc and Beverly exchanged a few heated words over whether or not she would allow him to eat such a varied sampling of food, but after several minutes of arguing with a brick wall, she gave in. She warned him not to eat too much, then watched as he finished off everything on his plate and had seconds, then thirds on the cake.

"You'll be lucky if indigestion is all you get," she sighed, then accepted her son's invitation to dance and glided off across the floor.

Jean-Luc turned towards the bar. "Guinan," he caught her attention. "Do you have anything for..."

Already his stomach felt queasy.

"There you go, sir." Guinan handed him a glass of bubbly liquid. "That should be just what you need about now."

It worked wonders. By the time Beverly returned, he felt fine. And the good doctor was none the wiser.

"I see Deanna has forgiven Will," Jean-Luc commented, nodding towards his first officer and ship's counselor who were dancing cheek to cheek on the opposite side of the room.

"Momentarily," Beverly said, as she resumed her seat. "I think it's an uneasy truce." She smiled in their direction. "But they do make a good looking couple, don't they?"

"Yes," he answered, "if only they'd admit it to themselves."

Beverly glanced over at Jean-Luc, found him staring at her. She looked away, saw Deanna crossing the dance floor, Will following her.

"Uh-oh," she frowned, "looks like communication is breaking down."

Deanna stopped beside them. "Would you mind if I joined your conversation?"

"We're not having much of one," Beverly responded, "but you're welcome."

"Thank you." Deanna leaned against the bar.

Will caught up with her. "Deanna..." He glanced from Jean-Luc to Beverly. "Captain, Doctor," he addressed them, "if you'll excuse us. Deanna," he looked back at her, "we need to talk."

Deanna turned her dark gaze on him. "I think, Commander Riker, that talking is the one thing you've been doing a little too much of."

Beverly and Jean-Luc eyed each other, then both nervously looked away.

"Deanna, my comment on how Rycean women danced was not meant as a criticism towards you. If anything, it was a compliment."

"A compliment?" Color rose in Deanna's cheeks. "Let me remind you, Will Riker, that I am not just one of your many women who flock to you as if you had a horgon tied around your neck."

On that, Jean-Luc activated his chair and beat a hasty retreat for the door.

Trying to keep as low a profile as possible, Beverly followed.

"And if I hear one more time how imaginative Rycean women are..." Deanna's voice faded behind them.

~vVv~

They were both laughing almost uncontrollably when they entered Jean-Luc's cabin. Beverly made it across the room and collapsed on the sofa, laughing so hard tears were blurring her vision. When she got control, and her vision cleared, she saw Jean-Luc, a few feet away, smiling.

"It's good to hear you laugh," he said thoughtfully.

"I laugh often enough," she returned.

"Not like this," he contradicted. "Not in a long time."

He moved himself closer, right in front of her, their knees almost touching.

"We really shouldn't be laughing at all," she shook her head, face sobering. "It's just that Will has such a talent for sticking his foot in his mouth."

Jean-Luc nodded. "And he has awfully big feet."

That caused them both to laugh again.

Then Beverly gasped for breath. "Poor Will," she mumbled.

"Poor Will nothing," Jean-Luc amended. "It's Deanna who deserves our sympathy. She's the one who has to put up with him."

Beverly smiled knowingly. "Despite everything, I don't think she minds."

"No, I don't think so either," Jean-Luc agreed, suddenly serious. "I'm just glad we've got him back. Bad jokes and all."

Beverly reached out and touched him lightly on the knee. "Thanks to you."

He blushed slightly, but didn't say anything. Her hand remained warm on his knee for a long minute, before she pulled it away.

"The party was nice," she commented.

Jean-Luc cleared his throat. "Yes, it was. I don't know when I've eaten so much."

Beverly narrowed her eyes at him. "You did eat too much, didn't you?"

He grinned. "Now that I can feed myself again. Without making too much of a mess," he added, staring down at a few noticeable spots on his dress uniform.

Beverly brushed at them with her fingers. "Chocolate cake," she ascertained.

"One of my favorites," he admitted, eyebrows quirking mischievously.

"I'm going to have to keep my eye on you. Or you're going to gain back all your weight and then some."

"I'm going to try."

Again there was a companionable silence. Jean-Luc closed his eyes, and Beverly leaned back into the sofa cushions. She studied him. He hadn't changed much in the past few months. Not really. His face was a little thinner. There were a few more lines around his eyes. Maybe his hair was longer, a little uneven. She'd cut it for him last week and hadn't done a very good job. But he was still Jean-Luc. And now that he could move his hands and arms, it wouldn't be long until he was up on his feet again, walking.

Several minutes passed.

"Don't fall asleep," Beverly warned.

His eyes snapped open. "I wasn't."

She sat up. "I'll call Gordon to help you get ready for bed."

He shook his head. "I can do it."

"Jean-Luc," she protested.

"I can do it," he said again, turning the wheelchair and heading for the bedroom. She followed.

Jean-Luc maneuvered the chair close to the bed. Beverly stood in the doorway and watched.

"You've never done this before," she reminded crossing her arms in front of her.

Jean-Luc took note of the familiar stance. "Because you've never let me," he said, removing the chair's left arm rest and dropping it on the floor in front of him. "And neither has Gordon."

"Jean-Luc, I know your arms are stronger, but I don't think they're quite strong enough yet."

"Sure they are," he answered, reaching down and locking the wheels in place.

Beverly sighed. There was no arguing with him.

He braced one hand on the mattress and the other on the chair seat and pulled his body towards the bed. His teeth gritted, the muscles in his face hardened. He slid sideways until he was seated half on the bed, half on the chair. He rested and shot her a look that said, "Hah, I'm doing it."

Then he braced himself again and pulled. As he slid off the chair, his left arm, the one supporting him on the mattress, gave out, and he tumbled face forward onto the bed.

Quickly, Beverly stepped over and sat down next to him. She rested her hands on his shoulders.

He turned his face; one eye looked up at her. "I told you I could do it," he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

Beverly laughed. "And I suppose you want to sleep like this the rest of the night?"

"No."

She grasped his shoulder firmly, lifted him up, until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, next to her.

"I have to admit," she smiled at him, "I'm impressed."

"I knew you would be. Now, if you'll just hand me my pajamas, I can do the rest."

She stood, walked over to the chair and picked up his blue pajamas. She turned and looked at him. His face was flushed. "Jean-Luc, I can still call Gordon."

"Beverly," his voice was firm.

She handed him his pajamas. "All right. But I'll bet you ten credits I find you asleep in your dress uniform tomorrow."

He grinned at her. "It's a bet. Now, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

She left, but turned around at the cabin door and stared back into his bedroom. His head was bent, his hands reaching down to grasp at his boot. He couldn't reach. He tried to pull his leg up, bend it across his other knee, but within seconds, he gave up. Beverly could tell he was frustrated, tired.

She went back, knelt down in front of him. "Here. Let me."

Taking hold of his leg, she pulled the boot off. Then the other one.

"Beverly."

She pulled off his socks. "Don't argue, Jean-Luc."

She stood up and unfastened the neck of his uniform, pushed it back, removed his arms from the sleeves.

He stared up at her. "I can do the rest," he said.

"Jean-Luc, I'm your doctor," she reminded him.

He sighed and lay back on the bed. She unhooked the black dress pants, slid them down over his thighs, knees, drew them off. Reached for his pajama pants, started to put them on.

"Don't bother," he murmured.

So she tucked his legs under the covers and pulled them up around his waist.

"All right," she replied. He could sleep in his shorts tonight.

She picked up his uniform, his boots and socks. Placed the boots in his closet, and the rest she put down the laundry chute. She could feel his eyes watching her, following her around the room. She came back to the edge of the bed, smiled down at him.

"Try to get some rest."

"What would I do without you?" he said, looking up at her in a way she'd never seen before.

"Probably sleep flat on your face in your uniform," Beverly answered, starting to laugh, but stopping when she saw how serious he'd grown.

His eyes searched her face, roamed down over the rest of her body. Beverly felt a shiver pass through her. She swallowed.

"Good night, Jean-Luc."

"Beverly. Don't go." His hand reached out, grasped hers.

"Jean-Luc. We're both tired."

"I'm not. You said yourself I'm getting better, stronger every day."

She squeezed his fingers. "Yes. You are. But you still need your rest."

"I'll rest later." His hold on her strengthened. "Don't go," he repeated, husky, low, pulling her down to sit on the side of his bed. Letting go of her hand, he reached up and ran his fingers through her hair, brushing the flame-colored strands back from her face.

"Jean..." she breathed.

He shook his head. "No words, Doctor."

She felt the gentle pressure of his hand on the back of her neck drawing her down. She placed her palms against his chest, resisting at first, but then giving in to the free flow of emotions between them - the need, the desire. Their lips met, touched, caressingly soft, then more urgent. His arms encircled her, holding her close. She knew he would not want to let her go if she tried to leave. But she would not try. Being here, with him, was good, right. She savored the sensation of his warm breath on her throat, his rhythmic, steady heart beat pressed so close to hers. She pulled back, just enough to look into his eyes.

What she saw there, in their hooded, forest green depths, was something far more than passion. It was a love so deep, so pure. And she knew her own eyes mirrored his. For she loved this man, perhaps even more than she'd loved Jack. And she welcomed him as he drew her back, capturing her mouth with his own, driving all other thought away, until it was just the two of them and the precious love they made.

~vVv~


	19. Chapter 19

Beverly woke to the sound of someone coughing. For a moment she was disoriented, unsure of where she was. And then she remembered.

Turning over quickly, she found Jean-Luc lying beside her, his face red, eyes watering. Placing her hands under his arms, she pulled him to a sitting position, cradling his body against her shoulder as she pushed pillows behind his back. She settled him against them.

"Breathe, Jean-Luc," she instructed.

He coughed one last time, swallowed convulsively, and then relaxed.

Beverly wiped the perspiration from his forehead and cheeks with her hand.

"Are you all right?"

He smiled crookedly. "Just fine," he rasped. "Beautiful women always take my breath away."

"Oh, you." She started to move away from him, but he grabbed her and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

"Didn't you get enough last night?" she gasped, breaking the kiss.

"I don't think I could ever get enough of you." He stared at her, the offer in his eyes tempting. But Beverly resisted. She got up from the bed, reached for his robe on the chair, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Why don't we call a recess for right now, and I'll get us some breakfast."

"All right," he agreed, grudgingly. "As long as we can have some dessert later."

She shook her head. "Jean-Luc, this is a side of you I've never seen."

"Which side is that?" he inquired.

"This insatiable lust you have for your Chief Medical Officer."

"Oh, that side. It's always been there; I've just kept it in very close check." He smiled, almost wickedly. "That is until last night."

She paused at the door and gazed at him.

"Last night was wonderful, Jean."

"I agree." He hesitated. "No regrets?"

"None."

He studied her face. "What about doubts?"

She bit her lower lip, nervously. "A few."

He pushed himself forward, propping himself up with his hands against the pillows.

"Beverly, you know I love you."

She was silent.

"I do," he said firmly.

She walked back to the bed and sat down on the foot of it. She reached out and touched his leg. He flinched. Although his physical therapy was strenuous, there was still a slight loss of muscle tone, and now, in the light of morning, when Beverly's touch was that of a lover's, and not a doctor's, he felt a bit self-conscious. She sensed his uneasiness and pulled her hand away.

She took a deep breath. "I can't help wondering if your illness has something to do with what happened last night."

"What do you mean?"

"Jean-Luc, for the past few months we've been awfully close. My treating you, helping take care of you. Under these circumstances, it's not unusual for..."

Her voice trailed off.

"For a patient to fall in love with his doctor?" Jean-Luc looked at her incredulously. "Is that what you are implying that I have done?"

"Would this have happened if you hadn't gotten sick?"

He leaned back into his pillows, shaking his head. "I can't answer that, Beverly. Because I did get sick, and we have been awfully close." He fixed her with a steady gaze. "And if not for my illness, I may never have realized how much I need you."

"But maybe that's all it is. A need."

Jean-Luc smiled. "No, Beverly, what I feel for you is much more. I do love you."

She felt tears gathering in her eyes.

"Hey," he whispered, "I didn't mean to make you sad."

She crawled up next to him and laid her head on his shoulder.

"No," she murmured, "I'm happy."

He lifted his hand to her face, his fingers wiping away the tears.

"I forgot. Women cry when they're happy."

She looked up at him. "And when they're in love," she said, kissing him softly on the chin.

"I thought we were going to take a recess?"

"We did." She smiled at him. "It's over now."

~vVv~

"Ow!" he exclaimed, spinning around.

Deanna fell back into the pillows, giggling. She felt the bed sink as Will crawled up onto it. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them a moment later, she was staring up into Will's bearded face, his sparkling blue eyes.

"That hurt," he said, accusingly.

"It was supposed to. That was your punishment." Deanna pushed against his shoulder and he rolled over on his back. She turned on her side, propped her head on her hand, and stared down at him. "I had to settle for a shoe because I didn't have a phaser handy."

Will grinned at her. "What setting would you have put it on?"

"Heavy stun."

He winced. "Guess I was lucky with the shoe."

Deanna slowly shook her head at him. "My mother warned me about letting strays follow me home. Why didn't I listen to her?"

"Because Luaxana Troi never warned you about me."

Deanna ran her finger along the side of his beard and sighed. "Sometimes you make me so mad, Will Riker."

"And at other times?"

Deanna leaned over, gently kissed his lips, and then pulled back. "How's that for an answer?"

Will thought for a moment. "I'm not sure I understand. Maybe you better tell me again."

Deanna laughed softly, caressed Will's cheek, kissed him again. Then she snuggled against him, rested her head on his shoulder.

"Deanna?"

"Umm?"

"You know how much I care for you?" Will's voice shook.

"Shh," Deanna held her finger to his lips. "I know, Will."

"It was dark where I was, and I couldn't feel you with me."

Deanna wrapped her arms around him, held him close, let him talk.

"I thought... maybe I was dead."

"Oh, Will," she tightened her hold on him.

"Deanna, I..." he closed his eyes, blinked back tears. "I'm sorry I act like I do sometimes."

"It's all right, Will. Even when I get mad at you," she hesitated for a moment, wiped the tears from his face. "I still love you, Imzadi."

She looked up into his eyes, could see in them the words he could never say out loud, understood his feelings for her. He buried his face in her hair.

"Thank you," he murmured, "for letting me follow you home."

~vVv~

Beverly woke several hours later, wrapped up, warm and secure, in Jean-Luc's arms, her head on his chest. She tilted her face up and looked at him. His eyes were open.

"How long have you been awake?" she murmured.

"Don't know," he murmured back.

"What have you been doing?"

"Watching you sleep."

"Doesn't sound too exciting."

"On the contrary," Jean-Luc disagreed. "I found it very stimulating."

Beverly groaned. "You would." She sat up, pulled herself out of his arms, swung her legs over the side of the bed, her hand searching for his robe.

"Where are you going?" he protested.

"I have patients who need me," she explained.

"I see," Jean-Luc nodded. "As opposed to the patients who love you."

Beverly smiled, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "To the best of my knowledge, I only have one of those."

"Lucky guy," Jean-Luc whispered.

"Lucky me." She kissed his lips this time, softly, but broke away before he pulled her back down on the bed.

She found his robe, slipped into it. "I'm going to take a shower," she announced. "Do you want me to bring you something to eat first?"

"No." He settled back on the pillows. "I think I'm going back to sleep."

"Good idea." She turned towards the bathroom. "You didn't get much rest last night."

"Neither did you," he called as the bathroom door slid closed between them.

~vVv~

Beverly was thankful that Wesley had his own cabin now. It made returning to her quarters all the more easy, except for the fact that she was sneaking through the corridors in a bright blue taffeta dress. Would any crew members she might pass along the way put two and two together and know that she hadn't quite made it home after the party last night? She quickly pushed that thought out of her mind. Let them think what they would. She had other, more important, things to worry about.

_True to his word, Jean-Luc had fallen back asleep while Beverly took a shower._

_She came out of the bathroom afterwards and found him sprawled across the bed, one arm hanging over the side, the other slung over his eyes. His legs, however, were perfectly straight, tucked carefully under the sheets, as if he'd purposefully taken the time to cover them before he'd drifted off._

_She quietly slipped back into her dress, then sat on the chair and watched him._

_His chest rose and fell in unison with the sound of his gentle snoring. He was dreaming. She could see his eyes moving quickly behind his lids. But it was a good dream because he smiled a couple of times while she was watching._

_Beverly sighed. She was reluctant to leave. A part of her wanted only to climb back into bed beside him, curl up against his body. But another Beverly, the calm, collected Beverly, knew it was time to go. If what they'd shared was real, then it would always be there._

_She leaned over him before she left, kissed him softly, but surely, on his forehead, whispered "I love you" to his eyebrow._

As she hurried through the corridors, fears sprang up to haunt her: could she really love another man, could she love this man, could they tell others of their love, was it really love, would she ever hold him again, would being lovers make them less of friends? The last thought frightened her the most. The idea of losing Jean-Luc's friendship was unbearable, like winning the battle, but losing the war.

Beverly's cabin wasn't that far from Jean-Luc's, but further away than other senior officer's, because it was closer to Sickbay. She was almost there, almost home free, when she came around a corner and ran into Will. Literally. He grabbed her by the shoulders to keep from knocking her down.

"Beverly," he stammered.

"Will." He was still in his dress uniform.

Even as Beverly blushed from her own embarrassment, her mind made some quick connections and deduced that Deanna's cabin was the most probable location of Will's departure.

"Lovely party," she said as she stepped around him.

Will swallowed. "Yes. It was."

They stared at each other for a few more seconds, then Beverly smiled and Will smiled back. Smiles that said all and nothing. Smiles that forged a secret.

Smiles between friends. Then they turned and went their separate ways.

~vVv~


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** Thanks again for all the positive and helpful reviews!

They passed each other in Sickbay, Jean-Luc on his way to therapy, Beverly on her way to remove a pair of tonsils from a six-year-old's throat. They smiled in the passing, smiles that spoke volumes.

Beverly found it difficult to concentrate on her patient, couldn't get the thought of Jean-Luc out of her mind. Luckily, tonsillectomies were easy, routine. In no time at all, she patted the small Vulcan on the shoulder and sent him on his way.

She escaped to her office, sat behind her desk, caught her reflection in the desk computer screen. "You're behaving like a lovesick teenager, Beverly," she silently reprimanded, "get a hold of yourself."

She took a deep breath, tried to concentrate on a medical chart. Several minutes later, she gave up, threw the chart on her desk.

~vVv~

The therapy room was empty, except for Jean-Luc, who lay flat on his back in the middle of a floor mat, clad in a white sweat suit.

"Did they abandon you?" Beverly asked from where she stood in the doorway.

Jean-Luc raised his head, propped himself up on his elbows.

"Selar said she'd be back. I believe her. Vulcans rarely lie."

Beverly walked over, knelt beside him. "How's it going?"

He frowned. "She's a sadist, Beverly."

She smirked. "Really working you, uh?"

"I thought it was supposed to get easier now that I'm better."

Beverly shook her head. "Afraid not. But you know what they say. When the going gets tough..."

"The tough complain," Jean-Luc smiled.

Beverly hesitated, then spoke. "I've been thinking about you all morning."

"I've been thinking about you. Remember those great massages you used to give me after my therapy?"

Now that he was basically an out-patient, some things had been lost along the wayside.

"Jean-Luc," she sighed.

"Not now. I'll take a rain check for later."

"We need to talk," she said firmly.

"All right," Jean-Luc's voice turned serious. "We can talk at dinner." Then he grinned suddenly. "I'll take that rain check afterwards."

Beverly groaned.

"Bev?"

"Look, Doctor Frankenstein," she dead-panned, "we've created another Will Riker."

~vVv~

Will Riker stared out the ready room viewport. He no longer felt uncomfortable in this place, although it was still wholly the captain's domain. And the room itself awaited his return. Will was simply so relieved to be back on the _Enterprise_ that any room, every corridor, felt like home, a feeling much more desirable than the nothingness of being caught between hell and... Will pushed the thoughts out of his mind, shifted his concentration to the passing stars.

The door chime sounded. He looked over his shoulder. "Come."

The door slid open. Deanna entered. "Here you are."

Will grinned. "Have you been looking for me?"

"Everywhere."

"You could have asked the computer my location," he pointed out.

"What? And spoil the fun of the chase?"

She joined him at the viewport. Will smiled out at the darkness. Deanna saw the pleasure on his face.

"What out there pleases you?" she asked.

Will looked over at her. "It's what's not out there that pleases me. Namely Taureb Prime."

They'd left the planet behind two weeks ago. Starfleet had ruled it off limits.

Which was just fine with Will. He never wanted to go back there again. They were now on their way to Starbase 17 to pick up a delegation of Andorian representatives bound for Stacius III.

"That's all behind you now. Literally," she added.

"I know." He turned away, went over, sank into the desk chair.

Deanna studied him. "You look good behind that desk."

Will shook his head. "I don't belong here."

"You could someday. After all, isn't that what you've always planned?"

"On a ship like the _Enterprise_?"

"Why not? You've done a pretty good job these past couple of months."

Will eyed her doubtfully. "Up until about two weeks ago. I should have never beamed down to that planet. Captain Picard never would have."

Deanna walked over, leaned towards him, her hand on the desk. "Captain Picard did."

"Only to get me."

"Will, stop it."

"What?"

"You're doubting yourself." Deanna sat down on the edge of the desk. "That's not the Will Riker I know. You didn't make a mistake. You made a choice."

He sighed. "You're right."

Deanna's eye widened. "I'm what?" She started to smile.

"You're right, Deanna." He leaned back in the chair. "Aren't you ever wrong?"

"Seldomly."

Will looked around the room. "Maybe someday," he murmured.

"It's still yours for a while," Deanna reminded. "But he will be back soon."

"I know." Will nodded. "I'm glad."

~vVv~

"Do you know what I miss?"

Beverly looked across the candle lit table at Jean-Luc. "What?"

"I miss your feeding me mashed potatoes and creamed corn."

"Jean-Luc..." Beverly frowned reprovingly.

"No," he held up his hand to silence her. "I know it sounds silly. Something I never thought I'd miss in a million years. But... I do."

"You know what your problem is," Beverly said a few moments later.

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at her.

"You're just a little frightened of that great big world out there."

"Beverly..." he started to interrupt.

"No," this time she held up her hand," just listen. For the past few months, you've been removed from normal, everyday life. Taken care of, coddled, and I'll admit, perhaps a little too much."

He opened his mouth to say something.

"Hold on," she continued, "I know the idea of being totally independent again is scary... but you can do it."

Jean-Luc rolled his eyes. "Beverly, all I said was I missed your feeding me. I wasn't admitting to being a basket case. However, now that you mention it, I do feel a little trepidation over the prospect of... how should I phrase this... leaving the nest." He smiled sheepishly. "But, as long as you're there with me, I'll be just fine."

Beverly took a deep breath. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What?"

"Us."

"What about us?"

"That's what I'd like to know."

Jean-Luc sighed. "Beverly we're going around in circles."

"What happens to our relationship... now?"

Light dawned. "Oh," Jean-Luc nodded, "you mean after last night."

Beverly stared at him. "It changes things, Jean." Her voice was tinged with exasperation.

"Yes, it does."

"I've always felt, that among senior officers on a starship, there's a code of ethics, or..."

"Are you trying to tell me that what happened between us last night was wrong?"

"No," Beverly answered, "no... I'm trying to ask you what happens next."

Jean-Luc licked his lips, sighed deeply. "I see. Are you asking what happens in five minutes, or what happens next week, or next year?"

"I guess... I'm asking all of them."

"In that case," he nodded, "I can only answer one. Because I don't know what will happen next week, and I don't even know where we'll all be next year. I do know that in about five minutes I was planning on coming over there and kissing you."

Beverly smiled, that gentle, lopsided smile that he loved.

"So what you're saying then, is that we just take our relationship five minutes at a time."

"Um-um. If it's all right with you."

"If I were to get up and come to you, would I have to wait five minutes?"

Jean-Luc shook his head. "I don't think there are any hard, fast rules to this. Nothing set in stone..."

Already she was at his side, and he pulled her onto his lap, kissed her softly, ran his fingers through her hair. She pulled back, looked into his eyes. "Just one rule, Jean-Luc. That we love each other."

"Always," he murmured and drew her back to him.

~vVv~

Jean-Luc held her on his lap, his arms around her waist, big hands rubbing the small of her back.

Beverly held his shoulders, rested her cheek against the top of his head, her fingers tracing delicate patterns along his neck.

Soft music filled the room. And they were dancing. Just the two of them.

"At first, I thought this was a stupid idea," Jean-Luc murmured drowsily, his warm breath tickling Beverly's ear.

"Shh, Jean," she whispered, "you'll break the mood."

"Sorry." He reached up, stroked her hair.

They were sitting together, in his wheelchair, in the middle of his cabin. Not moving, but dancing all the same.

"The last time I danced with you was at your wedding."

Beverly sighed. "The last time I danced with you was right here, six months ago."

He tilted his head back, stared up at her.

"Your look-alike," she answered the question in his eyes.

"You didn't tell me..."

"No, I didn't tell you everything."

He reached up, brushed her hair off her face, touched her cheek with his fingers.

"Will you tell me now?" he asked gently.

Beverly nodded, and she told him.

~vVv~

"Amazing, how much like me he really was." Jean-Luc shook his head.

"He felt like you," Beverly squeezed his shoulders. "Strong and warm."

"And apparently he thought like me."

Beverly gazed down into his eyes. "How long have you wanted us to be closer, Jean-Luc?"

He took a deep breath. "Would you slap me if I said I wanted it from the moment I first met you?"

She didn't slap him, just raised her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Really."

She snuggled against him, and he wrapped his arms tighter around her.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Umm?"

Beverly rubbed her hand across his chest. "Are you sure it's really you in there?" she whispered.

He laughed softly, nestling his face into the flame of her hair, kissing the top of her head. "I assure you, Beverly, it's really me."

~vVv~


	21. Chapter 21

"Come on in, Number One. The water's fine."

Will sat on the edge of the pool, staring out at the captain who was floating on his back.

"Water's not too cold, is it?" Jean-Luc called.

"No, sir. You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes. It's very relaxing." Jean-Luc flipped over on his stomach, swam towards Will with strong even strokes, his legs moving slightly behind him.

"You're getting some movement back in your legs," Will commented when the captain had reached him.

"A little bit." He was holding onto the side with one hand. He still wore a life jacket, but only at Beverly's insistence. The doctor was presently sitting in a lounge chair in the corner reading a book.

"Are you coming in or not?" Jean-Luc asked.

Will nodded, leaned over so that Beverly wouldn't hear. "I'm getting in, but... I still get this twinge in my arm every now and then."

"I know."

Will stared at him. "You know?"

"I told him," Beverly said loudly, looking up from her book. "So get in. A swim will be good for you. And, in the future, Commander Riker, don't think you can keep things from your doctor."

"Especially if your doctor's last name is Crusher," Jean-Luc added.

Will groaned in defeat and slid into the pool.

"At least three laps," Beverly instructed from her lounge chair.

Will caught Jean-Luc's eye.

"Don't look at me," he said shaking his head, "she's the swim coach."

"Now, Will," she called again, "or do I have to blow a whistle?"

"I'm swimming," he muttered and started off towards the end of the pool.

Three long laps later, he stopped in the shallow end, stood and stretched his left arm. It was tired, but it actually felt better.

"It wasn't getting enough exercise," Beverly explained.

He turned and looked at her. "Are you a mind reader?"

"No. Just a doctor."

Will sighed, glanced around for Jean-Luc, saw him face down in the corner of the pool.

"Captain!" He crossed over to him quickly, pulled his head up.

"What are you doing?" Jean-Luc sputtered.

"Are you all right, Captain?"

"I'm fine."

"What were you doing?" Will asked, a look of confusion spreading across his face.

Jean-Luc started to laugh. "I was blowing bubbles."

"What?"

"Don't you remember when you were a kid and you used to blow bubbles on the surface of the water? Sort of like blowing bubbles in your milk?"

Will stared at his captain, wondering if some alien being had taken over his mind.

"Don't worry, Number One," Jean-Luc assured. "Even I like to be a little crazy sometimes."

"Yes, sir."

"But, all craziness aside, I want to tell you that you've done a hell of a job running the ship these past months. Gave me one less thing to worry about knowing you were in charge. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, sir, but..."

"No buts, Will. You handled things just as I would have. Maybe even better."

"Not better, sir," Will denied.

"As well as," Jean-Luc offered.

"I wouldn't even go that far."

Jean-Luc stared at his first officer, pursed his lips. "Nah, neither would I."

They broke out in laughter. Beverly got up, and walked over to the pool's edge.

"How's the bubble experiment going, Jean-Luc?" she inquired teasingly.

Jean-Luc's face reddened. "It's going just fine, Doctor."

Will leaned over. "Don't feel bad, Captain. I still blow bubbles in my milk," he confessed quietly.

Jean-Luc and Beverly exchanged glances. Then they both grinned.

"We know, Number One."

~vVv~

As the days passed, Jean-Luc made it a point to get out more. Just as he made it a point to always have dinner in his cabin with Beverly. It was the perfect ending to a long day.

"So, you and Wes had a good time on the holodeck?"

Jean-Luc's eyes gleamed. "Great time. Kennedy Space Center. 1969."

Beverly looked over her shoulder at him. "One small step for man..."

"One giant leap for mankind," Jean-Luc finished wistfully. "It was...inspiring...I..." He stopped talking, stared at her. Then said, "Beverly, when you said you were going to cook, I didn't think you meant you were really going to... cook."

Beverly turned around and stared at him, a wooden spoon raised in her hand. She was standing among an assortment of pots, pans, and hot plates.

"What exactly did you think I meant?"

"Well, I thought that you meant you were... just going to talk to the food dispenser." Now that he said it out loud, it sounded stupid.

"Talk to the food dispenser?" She looked at him as though he were stupid. "Jean-Luc, I do that every night for dinner."

"Well, I know, but," he struggled for something redeeming to say, "I talk to it sometimes. For breakfast," he threw out as an example. "I get that myself."

Beverly's expression softened. "I know. You're getting very self-sufficient these days." She smiled proudly at him. "Gordon tells me you're dressing yourself now, and taking care of most of your personal needs as well."

Jean-Luc shrugged his shoulders. "The hand rails in the bathroom help."

"I thought they would."

She set the spoon down on the counter, walked over to the table, sat beside him.

Jean-Luc eyed the cooking area. "Should you leave all that stuff unattended?"

"It's fine." She took a deep breath. "Selar tells me your legs are getting stronger."

He looked at her quizzically. "Beverly, do you have a little team of spies that report back to you on my progress?"

"Just Gordon and Selar." She thought for a moment. "And Deanna and Will... And Wesley."

"Are you sure that's all?"

Beverly nodded. "Pretty sure." She gazed at him. "Anyway, Selar says you're getting stronger, and I've noticed that you're moving your legs more."

"I can lift them up off the ground. As long as I'm lying down, that is."

Beverly smiled. "That's good. I think it's time we took the next step. No pun intended."

He eyed her warily. "What exactly is the next step?"

"I think you should be fitted for braces," she said, each word carefully measured.

"Braces?" Jean-Luc eyes grew wide.

"It's time to get you up on your feet, Jean-Luc," Beverly continued quickly. "Aren't you ready to get out of that chair?"

He looked down at it possessively. "I've grown attached to it." He smiled weakly.

"I know. But it's time to grow unattached."

He looked away, his hands nervously pulling at the cloth napkin on his lap. After about a minute, he turned back to her. "How exactly do we go about this?"

"I take the proper measurements, and the replicator does the rest. Then the braces are fitted to your legs. We'll help you stand up, and then we'll work some on the parallel bars. Get you walking."

"Walking?" He said it as though it was a foreign word: a concept he could not fathom.

"That's right." Beverly watched him closely.

He rubbed his fingers over his lips, an old familiar mannerism. He was thinking hard about this.

"Braces." He cringed. The very sound of the word frightened him.

"They're not that bad, Jean-Luc."

He was silent.

"So," she took hold of one of his hands, stopped the frustrated pulling at the napkin, "what do you think about this idea?"

"Umh," he humphed, made eye contact with her, "do I actually have any say so in this matter?"

"Actually... no."

"Umm." He gave her a defeated look. "In that case, it sounds all right. I guess."

~vVv~

The braces weren't the ugliest things he'd ever seen in his life. But they came pretty damn close. He sat morosely on the therapy room floor while Beverly fitted them around his bare legs.

"They're not that bad." The sentiment was getting old.

Jean-Luc didn't respond, just looked at them in disgust: shiny, silver metal, and dark leather-like straps.

"You can put your pants on over them and no one will ever know they're on," she informed encouragingly.

But Jean-Luc would know. The metal against his skin never warmed up, and they pinched and bit into his flesh, rubbed raw spots under his knees.

His therapy with them was grueling.

He stood at one end of the parallel bars, his hands holding his body upright. Selar was beside him, Beverly at the opposite end.

Selar helped push his legs forward with every step, and his weight rested more on his arms than his legs.

"You're doing a great job, Jean-Luc," Beverly complimented his slow progress.

He frowned at her. "Starfleet pays you to say things like that to your patients." He was tired, cranky.

"Starfleet doesn't pay me enough to have patients like you."

He stopped, held his ground, despite Selar's prodding hands.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

Beverly sighed. She was tired, too. "Roughly translated, it means get your butt down here so we can call it a day."

Jean-Luc glared at her, but stuck his right foot out anyway, continued walking towards her, if you could call it walking.

Ten minutes later, he reached the end of the bars, stood there exhausted, covered in sweat, his breathing labored.

He looked up at Beverly. "What? No encouraging words, no 'Great job, Jean-Luc'.

They stared hard at each other.

Her assistance no longer needed, Selar left the room.

Beverly broke the eye contact, went and retrieved his wheelchair. Brought it back over, helped him into it. She reminded herself that he was tired, that all this was harder on him than it was on her.

"I'll get Gordon to take you back to your cabin," she said quietly. "You could use a good, hot bath."

~vVv~


	22. Chapter 22

Beverly went back to her own cabin, took a long, hot bath herself; she needed the time to think, relax. Maybe she was trying to do too many things. Be too many people at once: doctor, therapist, friend... lover. Maybe she spent too much time with Jean-Luc, or maybe she hadn't spent enough. Maybe she'd just spent too much time being a doctor and therapist and not enough being the latter.

The past few days had been hectic, busy. Fitting Jean-Luc with braces, setting up a new therapy schedule. Dividing her time between him and her other patients.

And finding less and less time for herself.

"You're spreading yourself too thin," Deanna had warned her just the day before.

Beverly had merely laughed, then quickly apologized. Deanna was just doing her job. And so was Beverly. She took care of her patients, and she took care of the people she loved.

So after her bath, she stopped by Sickbay for a few minutes, then headed for Jean-Luc's quarters. He was in his wheelchair, next to the viewport, reading a book, when she entered. He looked a little more rested. But not much. He was clean at least, dressed in a pair of pajamas.

"Hi." She stood just inside the doorway.

He looked up from his book. "Hi."

"How do you feel?"

"Better." He said it noncommittally, as if he really felt neither better nor worse, as if he felt nothing at all.

"You look better," she agreed. "Cleaner anyway."

Jean-Luc gave her a tired smile. "So do you."

She walked over closer to him. "I stopped by Sickbay on the way here. Talked to one of my spies. How are those places under your knees?"

"A little rough," he admitted. Despite numerous adjustments, the braces still rubbed uncomfortably against his skin when he wore them for long periods of time.

"Did you put some of that cream on them?"

"I forgot."

Beverly frowned at him. Then went into his bathroom, came back with the medicated cream she'd prescribed for him. She sat down on the floor next to his chair.

"I told you to take care of these. If you don't, they're going to get infected."

She pushed his pajama pants up over his knees, gently rubbed the cream over the chaffed areas.

Jean-Luc relaxed at her touch, the cool cream bringing instant relief. He closed his eyes.

When she was finished, Beverly pulled the pants back into place.

"Beverly," he said quietly, opening his eyes. "I'm sorry I'm such a difficult patient."

She placed a hand on his knee. "You're not difficult, Jean-Luc. You can be a bit trying at times." She smiled, even as he frowned. "I just think we've been spending too much time together, and..."

"No," he interrupted, "we haven't been." The prospect of not being with her frightened him.

"Yes, we have. Too much time being doctor and patient." She rose up on her knees, leaned against his legs, took hold of his hands. "And not enough time as... friends."

"Oh," Jean-Luc smiled at the meaning of her words. "I totally agree." He bent his head down and kissed her. "Friendship is so very important."

"Very," Beverly murmured. "And it's just what the doctor ordered."

~vVv~

Jean-Luc grew used to the braces, just as he'd grown used to his wheelchair. Soon, they were an extension of himself. And although they were never quite comfortable, as his walking improved, they tended to bother him less.

Within a week, he was managing the parallel bars on his own, walking back and forth several times at an almost normal pace. His confidence increased. So much so that he didn't bat an eye when Selar presented him with a pair of crutches, with hand grips and arm bands that fit loosely around his wrists.

Selar balanced him on the floor mat while he slipped them on his arms, and then she stepped away.

He stood there, on his own, without anyone's help, and he wished that Beverly were there to see. But they'd decided to let Selar take over his therapy, and they'd found that the time apart balanced quite nicely with their time together. She dropped by every now and then to check on him, and both he and Selar kept her apprised of his progress, but still, there were times, like now, when he really missed her.

"Try taking a step, Captain," Selar instructed without commenting on his ability to stand alone. He received very little praise from the staid Vulcan. "Place the crutches in front of you first, and then step to meet them."

He tried to follow her instructions, but as soon as he moved, he fell, falling hard on his left shoulder and hip, the mat somewhat cushioning his blow. He looked up to find Selar staring down at him.

She did not ask how he was, for if the captain was injured, he would logically tell her. Instead she said, "You must always be prepared to fall, sir. You will be doing quite a lot of it as your therapy progresses." She reached down and helped him to his feet. "I could, of course, walk beside you, but that would cause you to grow dependent upon me. You must learn to grow dependent upon yourself, as well as upon the crutches."

He smiled resignedly. He received very little coddling from Selar either.

"Falling will not hurt you," she continued, "as long as you do so correctly. Always roll with the fall, and you'll be just fine."

Jean-Luc rolled with the falls for the rest of the afternoon, but he learned quickly. Two steps soon became ten, and though she did not admit it, even he could see the pride in Selar's eyes.

By the end of the next day's therapy, he was ready to show Beverly what he could do. He stood at one end of the mat, and she stood with Selar at the opposite end. Twenty feet lay between them.

"So," Beverly asked, "are you coming over here or not?"

He smiled at her. "On my way," he replied and started towards her.

Jean-Luc couldn't watch her reaction because he still had to keep his eyes focused on his feet, concentrate on each step. But he was so curious to see her face, that halfway across the mat, he glanced up. And that was a mistake. His right foot ran into his crutch, and he lost his balance and started to fall.

Beverly ran over and caught him, held him against her shoulder. It was nice to be caught for once, he thought, and sighed with relief. He looked in Beverly's eyes.

"Selar just lets me fall."

"Oh," Beverly said, and thinking that she'd just made a therapeutic mistake, she stepped back and let go of him. He tumbled onto the mat.

He glared up at her, but then realizing why she'd done it, he started to laugh.

Beverly collapsed beside him, also convulsed with laughter. She laid her hand on his shoulder, so proud of him, so pleased with his progress.

Selar left the room, leaving the two of them alone. And when Beverly saw that she was gone, she leaned over and kissed Jean-Luc on the cheek.

"I love you," she whispered. "And I love the way you walk."

~vVv~

Jean-Luc walked the length of his cabin, turned around at the bedroom door, and looked at Beverly who sat on the sofa, watching him. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Don't say it, allow me," he smiled, then said, "Good job, Jean-Luc." He gazed at her with a self-satisfied look.

"That's not what I was going to say."

His face fell. "You weren't?" He was truly bewildered.

She shook her head. "I was going to say do it again."

Jean-Luc headed towards the sofa. "You were not."

"I was too."

He maneuvered himself into a sitting position beside her, leaned his crutches against the nearby chair. "Well that's too bad," he leaned playfully against her shoulder. "I'm not doing it again."

She pushed at him, and he sat up straight. She tucked her feet up on the sofa, snuggled close to him, lifted his arm and wrapped it around her. "Good. I don't want you to do it again. I like you just where you are."

He looked down at her head, pressed against his chest. "You are... beautiful."

"Thank you, kind sir."

"Are you comfortable?"

"Very."

"Good. Because I have something to ask you."

Beverly shifted her eyes up at him. "What?" she asked carefully.

Jean-Luc felt her body stiffen, and he gently rubbed his hand over her back.

"Relax, Beverly. It's not half as serious as what you're thinking."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?" she asked. But even as she said it, she knew that he knew; that he understood. She loved him, and she'd loved Jack. And she and Jack had married, and had a child. And then Jack... So it wasn't half as serious; he wasn't asking her to marry him. For a moment she wasn't sure if she were disappointed or relieved.

"What's your question?"

He licked his lips, paused for a moment, then forged ahead. "May I have your official permission to return to work?"

"You've already returned to work."

He groaned. "Oh, Beverly, how can you call signing my name everyday to a paltry amount of reports work? It takes me all of fifteen minutes, if that long."

"Jean-Luc, you're still recuperating. You have your therapy, and you need extra time to rest."

"What I need, Beverly, is to get back on the bridge." He grasped her shoulder, looked her straight in the eye. "I'm ready. I know I am. I wheeled onto that bridge because I had to, for Will. But now I can walk onto it. And, hell, once I get there, I spend most of my time sitting."

"I don't know, Jean."

"Beverly," he touched her cheek. "I'm trying to leave the nest, and I need your help. I can't do it without you."

Beverly swallowed. Leaving the nest was one thing, letting him go was another. A part of her wanted nothing more than to see him back on the bridge, back where he belonged. But another part still wanted to shelter him, keep him close to her world.

Jean-Luc saw the indecision on her face. And he took her thin hands in his large ones and held them. Stared into her eyes, green into blue.

"Beverly," his voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. "I need to be a captain again."

He was asking her permission. Not only because she was chief medical officer, but because he wanted her to be on his side, wanted her to be with him, and for him in this decision.

"Please." He squeezed her hands.

She felt tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them away and nodded. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes, Jean-Luc, you may have my permission to return to work. Both officially," she smiled, "and unofficially."

He let go of her hands, wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. After a few moments, she pulled back.

"On two conditions," she said.

"Conditions?"

"You only work half-shifts, and you keep your wheelchair in your ready room for when you get tired."

"Beverly..." he started to protest.

A hard look settled in her eyes. "Take it or leave it."

He sighed and pulled her back into his embrace. "I'll take it."

~vVv~


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note:** Well, this is the last chapter. I want to thank everyone for reading and writing so many positive, encouraging reviews. I really appreciate your thoughtful support. My other story, "Ghosts Within," still has many more chapters to post, and I hope to finish some more Next Generation and Voyager stories soon. Thanks again! JT

Wesley was the first to see. He raised his head, absently, at the sound of the aft turbo-lift door sliding open. A wide grin, from ear to ear, spread across his face.

"That must be some daydream, Ensign," Will Riker commented wryly from the center command chair.

"It's no dream, Number One."

Instantly, Will was on his feet, turning towards his captain's voice. Deanna stood also. Following their lead, the rest of the bridge crew rose to their feet as well.

"This is a pleasant surprise, sir," Will said.

Jean-Luc stepped off the lift, holding tight to his crutches. His eyes surveyed the bridge, and he frowned slightly. Their well-meaning show of respect put him more on the spot than he wanted to be. Beverly was at his side, and she cast him a look that seemed to say "Be careful what you ask for." Because he had asked for it, and now he was here, and there were twenty feet and a ramp between where he was and where he wanted to be.

He looked down at Will. "I thought you might need a little help up here."

It was now or never. He headed down the ramp, slowly, carefully. Beverly a respectable two steps behind him; close enough to catch him if he fell (God forbid), yet far enough away to allow him this moment, this return to his world.

Will watched as the captain maneuvered his way down the ramp, and something inside of him relaxed; he exhaled some breath that he'd been holding for two and a half months. The coil that had been wound too tightly began to unwind.

"We can always use experienced help," Will supplied, the smile on his face even broader than Wesley's.

Jean-Luc stopped, shifted his gaze from his feet to his first officer. "In that case, I trust you'll accept my application."

He continued down the ramp, and a minute later he'd reached the center seat. He sank into it, propped his crutches against the arm, and looked up. Both Will and Deanna were beaming at him. He checked out the rest of the bridge crew. They were all staring back at him with the same open expression of pride and pleasure laced with relief. At least this time they hadn't clapped.

He sighed good-naturedly. "You may sit down. And resume your duties." The voice was authoritative, and they all returned to their respective tasks.

"You're back," Will observed aloud.

"More or less," Jean-Luc answered, glancing over at Beverly who sat down next to Deanna. Then he turned his gaze back to Will. "I trust you and Mister Data have taken care of things for me."

Will smiled. "Yes, sir."

"I've been keeping an eye on them, Captain," Deanna added.

"You've been keeping a good eye on us all, Counselor," he said softly in her direction. Then he raised his voice. "Number One. Starbase Seventeen. They have extensive shore leave facilities don't they?"

"Yes, sir."

He leaned back in his chair, comfortably. He'd missed the feel of it. "And we are due to pick up the Andorian delegation in four days?"

"Yes, sir," Will answered hesitantly, trying to follow the captain's train of thought.

He nodded. "Mister Data, what is our estimated time of arrival?"

"Maintaining our present course and speed, we will arrive at Starbase 17 in three-point-eight days."

"Ensign Crusher, what is our present speed?"

"Warp three, sir," Wesley replied.

"I see." He rubbed his fingers over his lips, thinking. "The Intermezzo," he murmured.

"The Intermezzo?" Will asked.

Jean-Luc smiled, only somewhat self-consciously. "A little restaurant on Starbase 17. Authentic French food."

Deanna's eyes lit up. "And divine pastries," she sighed, then grinned. "I've been there before."

"So have I," Beverly chimed in. "They have a wonderful selection of imported wines."

Will looked from one to the other of them. "I've never been," he confessed, feeling left out.

"We really must take you then," Jean-Luc said, then added quietly, "Three-point-eight days."

Will leaned into him. "I could instruct Ensign Crusher to increase out speed to say, oh... warp four," he offered conspiratorially. "That would get us there roughly two days ahead of schedule."

Jean-Luc nodded agreement. "Sounds good, Number One. Make it so."

~vVv~

Two days early and Starfleet granted the _Enterprise_ the shore leave they deserved: the one they missed on Starbase 412. Jean-Luc spent most of his time while off ship at a corner table at the Intermezzo - ate five meals there in three days, and enjoyed every single one.

On their way to Stacius III now, he missed the place, even more when Will delivered the Andorian delegates invitation to not one, but two official banquets.

"I'm not overly fond of Andorian food," Jean-Luc sighed at the prospect.

But he attended them both, and enjoyed them more than he thought he would. Going back to work had done much for him. His improvement was phenomenal.

Although he still used the crutches, he walked all over the ship now, and rarely had any need for his wheelchair.

Occasionally though, there was still pain, frustration born of exhaustion. In the middle of a night, Beverly awoke to the feel of Jean-Luc's body shaking beside hers, the sound of his muffled crying. She reached out, ran her hand along his bare back, fingers gently teasing the soft hair on his shoulders. He sighed deeply, rolled over, and without a word, burrowed into her arms. She held him, comforted him, bent her head down, kissed his cheeks, the taste of his tears salty on her lips and tongue. He longed to return her kisses, her embrace.

Wanted, no, needed to take her in his arms and make love to her. But he was too tired, worn out, drained by the worries and cares of the day.

"Beverly..." he murmured, as he rubbed his hand slowly along her arm, his tired, hooded eyes looking up at her.

"I know, Jean-Luc." She held his face in her hands. "It's all right. Just rest."

She knew him so well, his thoughts and feelings. And there wasn't a drop of Betazoid blood in her.

He settled against the warm skin of her body, cradled his head in her arms.

Tomorrow he would save something of himself, find the strength to give back what she gave so freely. But for now, he drifted off, safe and secure, wrapped up with the woman he loved.

~vVv~

The end of a long day, and the captain, flanked by his first officer and ship's counselor, was on his way to Ten Forward to unwind. Something he rarely did.

Something he hadn't done at all since his return to partial bridge duty. And perhaps he wouldn't be doing it now if he hadn't let the two of them talk him into it.

"It'll do you some good," Will suggested, as the three of them left the bridge together. "Now that we've delivered the Andorian delegation, you deserve the chance to sit back, relax."

Jean-Luc cast an eye in Deanna's direction.

"I totally concur, Captain. You've been pushing yourself lately. Trying to make up for lost time. I think you'd enjoy it."

"I appreciate the invitation, but I can rest just as well in my cabin."

"Ah, yes, but you'll be alone, sir. Without the pleasure of the counselor's and my company."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm not sure that's a selling point, Number One."

Will looked puzzled.

"I'm just teasing," Jean-Luc grinned.

And Deanna smiled. "Then you'll accompany us?"

"How can I refuse?"

They stepped off the lift and proceeded down the corridor toward the lounge.

They walked slowly, keeping pace with the captain, who, although he was fairly accomplished with his crutches, was slower, especially when he was tired.

When they were in sight of Ten Forward's entrance, Jean-Luc stopped.

"Captain? Are you all right?" Deanna asked softly.

Jean-Luc sighed. How many times, in the past months, had that question been posed to him? Too many to even speculate. But he answered all the same.

"I'm fine." He slid his wrists out of the crutches' arm bands, relieved the weight on his hands, steadied himself. He offered Deanna the crutches. "Will you take these for me?"

"Are you sure about this, Captain?" Will asked before Deanna had a chance to answer.

"No, I'm not, Number One," he replied. So far, he'd only walked without them during his therapy, and then only five or six steps at the most, before Selar stopped him, concerned that he would over do. But despite being tired, he felt strong today. Adventurous. "I have from here to there to find out if I can do it, don't I?" He motioned towards Ten Forward's doors.

Will nodded. "Yes, sir." His eyes gleamed with the challenge the captain had set.

Deanna took the crutches, shaking her head. They were like two little boys, the both of them. One daring the other. One taking the dare.

Carefully, slowly, Jean-Luc took a step, then another, and another. And the grin on his face broadened.

"You're doing just fine," Deanna whispered, as she walked along beside him.

"He's doing great!" Will exclaimed.

"Yes, Counselor,"Jean-Luc concentrated on his next step. "I'm doing great."

But even as he said it, he stumbled, started to fall. Will grabbed his shoulders, held him up. He resumed his balance, smiled at Deanna.

"Seems I still can't walk and talk at the same time."

"Then don't worry about talking," Deanna said, "just think about what you're doing."

Jean-Luc nodded, and gave Will a look that seemed to say "unhand me." So Will did.

He started again, slow, but steadier, the slight unevenness in his gait almost imperceptible. In several, long minutes he reached the doors to Ten Forward. He braced a hand against the wall, leaned heavily on it. He looked over at Will and Deanna. They were beaming at him.

"You did it sir," Will said respectfully.

"Was there any doubt in your mind, Number One?" he gasped back.

"Not for a minute."

He smiled, took deep breaths.

"Do you want these back, sir?" Deanna held the crutches out.

"No, but," he inhaled, "let's sit at the first empty table we find."

~vVv~

Another week went by, and the crutches were put aside for good. Jean-Luc tried to convince Beverly to let him walk without the braces. She agreed half-way.

"You can take the left one off, and we'll see how you do."

Jean-Luc grimaced. "You make them sound like training wheels."

She smiled. "That's not a bad analogy. But I think you'll find you still need the right one. That leg's not as strong as the left."

He discovered she was correct the next morning when he tried walking across his bedroom brace free. He fell twice. And she laughed at him. Not a smirk, not a grin. But an all-out, belly rumbling, laugh.

"I told you so," she chided.

He pushed himself up off the floor and stared at her. She sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed. They'd shared the night together.

"Beverly, I've told you, it's not nice to make fun of a sick man."

"You're not sick anymore, Jean-Luc." She winked at him. "You've proven that."

He grinned mischievously. "Want me to prove it again?" He lunged at her, fell across the bed.

"A tempting offer. But I've got to get to work, and so do you."

"All right." He rolled over, sat up. "Hand me the right brace," he sighed, "but do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Burn the left one."

"Gladly."

~vVv~

Jean-Luc stood alone in the main observation lounge, his body pressed close to the viewport. Exactly three months had passed since that morning he'd first fallen and hit his head, three long months that he'd thought would never end.

According to Beverly, he'd recovered quickly, but it had seemed interminable to him. And he wasn't quite there yet. He still grew fatigued easily, and he'd discarded the right leg brace just the day before. But from where he stood, he could now see the end in sight. He'd be all right, and that was a comforting feeling.

The door slid open behind him. "Jean-Luc?" It was Beverly. She came and stood at his side.

"Getting lost out there?" she murmured. Something about sharing the stars with this man always made her speak softly.

"No," he looked over at her, "I can assure you I am firmly rooted." He reached down, rubbed his right thigh. "And this leg's a little more rooted than the other."

"Still not easy to move, is it?"

"No."

Beverly reached out, placed her hand on his shoulder. "It may always be a little weaker than your left one."

He mulled her words over in his mind. "That's good," he said after a minute's hesitation.

She shook her head. Sometimes she thought she knew this man, and at other times...

"Why is that good?" she questioned.

"Because it'll serve as a reminder." He turned, looked straight into her eyes. "I don't ever want to forget these past three months. What it felt like to need people," he brushed his fingers along her cheek, "to need you."

She covered his hand with hers, held its warmth against her skin. "I'm still here for you."

"I know." He wrapped his arms around her, held her close. His need for Beverly, and his willingness to admit that need, made him stronger than he'd ever been before. And here, with her, he'd come home.

~The End~


End file.
